


Mutual Acquaintances

by Ghost_Owl



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Prequel Fixit, Some Humor, Stop Fridging Female Characters 2kForever, The Lawless AU, because c'mon this is still ANAKIN we're talking about, but now it’s an AU that’s accidentally kinda canon compliant to TCW S7, in which Anakin goes to rescue Satine instead, lots of ship tags so, nobody has their shit together though so it's gonna take a while, ok so this is still obviously an AU, the writers can all fight me, tldr: POLY ENDING POLY ENDING NO ONE IS LEFT OUT CHEATED ON OR STABBED FOR MANPAIN, turns out Filoni and I have some similar ideas, unreliable narrators, we learning how to communicate, which both fixes things but also makes things worse?, why would things go smoothly?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2020-10-17 07:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 90,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20617484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghost_Owl/pseuds/Ghost_Owl
Summary: The Duchess raised an eyebrow.  "Isn't that armor a little ill-fitting for you?""What—?  Shit, right, the helmet."  He pulled the bucket off, giving her an awkward smile.  "It's Anakin Skywalker, I'm here to rescue you."  A pause.  "Your Grace," he added hastily.Satine blinked, visibly taken aback.  "Oh."  She coughed.  "Erm, hello.""Not who you were expecting, huh?"In which Satine's distress call puts Obi Wan under Council scrutiny, Anakin offers to save her for him as a Totally Platonic Favor, Satine would like one good day, please, Padmé has everything under control, and Maul manages to cause an even bigger problem than before.





	1. Obi Wan

**Author's Note:**

> This work is not beta-read; you may find some mistakes.
> 
> This work also does not adhere to EU Mandalore canon, though I may on some occasions decide to use something from it, so if that's something you care strongly about, this fic may not be for you.

_”…I can’t explain everything now, but Almec has the support of the crime families!”_

The blue of the holorecording wavered violently as Duchess Satine Kryze peered over her shoulder at something happening off-camera, shoulders drawing back in a tensed gasp. Turning back to face the recorder, her features were grim, resigned.

_”Obi Wan, I need your help.”_

The rumble of engines in the background, and the video panned out to show multiple faceless soldiers touching down to surround Satine. The footage flickered once as they closed in on her, weapons drawn, before disappearing.

Obi Wan closed his eyes, that last image emblazoned in his brain even when he couldn’t see. All he could focus on was the hulking figures shrouded in red armor and Satine at the center of them all, in nothing but a simple dress and completely unarmed. He had never seen her appear so small before.

Yoda’s voice, carefully neutral. “Thoughts on this, Master Kenobi?”

_She’s all alone!_ Obi Wan bit this back, plastering on another layer to his mental shielding in an effort to hold back what felt in part like a dam inside of him about to burst. He could feel the scrutiny-laced eyes of the other Masters on him, looking for something he could not let them find.

Obi Wan drew on the strings holding himself together to summon the Jedi Master within, feeling like an outsider in his own body as he heard himself cooly recount Satine’s history with Death Watch and their break with the Separatists. If this were truly a full-on coup, they would have been acting independently.

_Which means the Republic has no jurisdiction to help, which means that_ we _are all she has left,_ he refrained from adding on, a new wave of concern washing over him as he realized just how dire Satine’s situation was.

Yoda and Mundi shared a glance and Obi Wan knew they had come to the same conclusion he had anyway, but judging by their solemn expressions, they weren’t thinking along the same lines he was.

“Without involvement from the Separatists, this is an internal affair for the Mandalorians,” Mundi said, confirming Obi Wan’s fears. “I’m afraid we cannot help.”

_Since when was the Jedi mandate “We can only fight Separatists”?_ “We cannot just hand Mandalore over to these crime families and let Satine become a martyr!” Obi Wan protested, knowing he was showing his hand but the increasingly hot worry bubbling up inside him made it difficult to care.

Mundi pointed out the difficulty Mandalore’s neutrality posed, and Obi Wan so badly wanted to argue; neutrality was not a crime, nor was it any reason to withhold aid. Yoda beat him to it.

“Understand your feelings I do, Obi Wan.”

Obi Wan had to look away to keep from laughing right in his face. _No you don’t. You really, really don’t._

“But to take action,” Yoda continued, “support, from the Republic Senate, we will need.”

They were all aware Yoda was right, but they were also keenly aware of something else and if no one was willing to say it, Obi Wan would. “You know what the Senate will decide. They will not send aid to a neutral system.” A part of him was surprised at the bitterness in his voice against the institution he had nearly died for several times over, but he knew he spoke the truth. If Yoda actually thought their gaunt, embattled, stretched thin, exhausted government would give even a moment’s consideration to a worthless, powder keg of a system and its leader who had openly defied them…

This entire debacle was ridiculous. Obi Wan wasn’t asking for a full-scale invasion, for stars’ sake. Just a small team, maybe even a single person, to go in and remove a woman in trouble from a dangerous situation, just as the Council had done for Satine so many years ago—

“At this time, nothing more can we do,” Yoda cut in, tone final.

Mundi nodded in agreement, and Obi Wan felt the last of his hopes fall away. His voice was hollow to his own ears, echoing way too loudly. “I understand, Masters.” He bowed respectfully, hoping to be dismissed so he could— so he could what, exactly?

“Mmhmm.” Yoda was still giving him that _look_, and Obi Wan was torn between bristling under the chastising stare usually used for younglings, and cowering because youngling or not, it was still highly effective.

“Conflicted, you are,” Yoda murmured, eyes narrowed.

_Damn it._

Obi Wan put up his best projection of polite confusion as Yoda went on. “Help everyone at once, the Republic cannot. Their own problems planets have had to solve, many times before. Know this, you do. Said this, you have. Different from any of the others, how is this?”

_Oh, no difference, just that this one I happen to be hopelessly attached to, so if you don’t mind—_

“I understand the Duchess’ direct appeal to you must be hard to hear, given your service to her in the past” Mundi commented and it took all of Obi Wan’s power not to freeze guiltily as he wondered if in his panic he had managed to actually send that last thought out for the others to hear it. “The difficult thing about Jedi and friendships is that one can so often be used for others’ gain.”

Obi Wan kept his voice very, very even despite practically feeling his blood pressure rise at the insinuation. “You’re suggesting her call was in bad faith?”

“Suggesting that the Duchess may not be the only one targeted, I believe he is,” Yoda corrected, now eyeing Obi Wan with a look that clearly said _Watch it._

Obi Wan winced at both the glare and his own defensive behavior— Force, he was starting to put on the same cornered animal act Anakin pulled whenever he poked around the topic of Padmé for too long.

Thankfully Mundi hadn’t seemed to notice. “Exactly, Master Yoda,” Mundi agreed, troubled gaze drifting off into the distance slightly and Obi Wan remembered with a start that Mundi was the one Jedi with multiple known families to his name, an entire host of wives and children— and each and every one of them a liability. Mundi probably knew better than anyone the risks involved for others harboring emotional attachments to a Jedi.

The Force rolled uneasily around him; If Obi Wan was truly the cause of Satine’s troubles…

_No._

He shook his head. “I respect your concerns, Master Mundi, but I doubt this has anything to do with me personally. The Death Watch may be no fans of mine, but on the occasion we crossed paths I was little more than a bothersome obstacle they were unable to get around. Their goal has always been Satine and Mandalore.”

There was that pair of scrutinizing looks again, and Obi Wan forced his spine to remain perfectly straight, standing tall. He had done nothing to earn those looks. 

_Liar._

“Alert the Senate of Mandalore’s request I will tonight,” Yoda said eventually, and Obi Wan dared to let out a tiny breath of relief. The meeting was over, and then he could—

He could…

Not wait around for the Senate’s rejection, that was for sure.

“Yes, Master Yoda,” he said, Mundi echoing him, but the dismissal from Yoda never came. Glancing up, he saw Yoda’s wizened old eyes still on him, thoughtful now, and a bolt of apprehension ran through him.

Yoda was up to something.

“Called here for another reason you were tonight, Obi Wan.”

_Of course I was. Here it comes._

“The upcoming peace talks on Elul’i, highly volatile they are, much potential for violence they hold,” Yoda told him. “Updated reports we have received, and two Jedi may be suited better than one, we are now thinking. More smoothly the situation may go if joined Master Windu on the Elul’i mission, you did.”

_And there it is._ Obi Wan was no fool. He caught Mundi’s momentary flash of surprise before it disappeared into the Force. He had read the Elul’i reports too, and Mace was set to be perfectly fine on his own; the Separatist forces there had been on the brink of surrender for months.

Elul’i also just so happened to be a Core world on the other side of the galaxy from Mandalore.

Yoda’s words were not a request, however, so Obi Wan put Mandalore in the back of his mind— where it sunk like a rock right into that place that encompassed everything. “When would I be leaving for this assignment?”

“Begin tomorrow the talks will. Depart a couple of hours from now, you are scheduled to.”

“I see.” Obi Wan honestly didn’t, not really. There were a million things he could say on the tip of his tongue, but what came out was “Thank you, Master. Might I get a look at the current mission details?”

“Forwarded to your personal files the details will be. Go and pack, you should. Expected in Hangar 5 you will be in three hours.”

Obi Wan couldn’t think of anything else to do other than bow again, feeling much like a malfunctioning droid getting stuck on old motions. Hells knew his brain wasn’t cooperating in processing anything else besides that haunting message over and over and over and over…

“May the Force be with you, Master Kenobi,” Yoda was saying to him with yet another bow, and Obi Wan once more hurriedly dipped into a bow in return. 

“And with you, Masters,” he replied, voice still coming out oddly to his ears. Standing back up, he turned on his heel and made his way to the doors of the holochamber. He was half-expecting Yoda to call him back again, so when the doors hissed shut behind him, it felt like they were cutting the last of the supports that had been keeping him upright. Practically slumping right into the button for the lift, he stepped inside the blissfully empty space and allowed himself to get lost in his own mind.

_”I need your help!”_

He shook his head, trying to get her eyes out of his mind, but how was one able to remove something that had always been there?

This was an internal affair, Mundi had said.

This was an internal affair, the Senate would undoubtedly say.

This was an internal affair, the rational Jedi part of Obi Wan was telling him.

“I need you,” Satine said.

_If you ever need anything—_ he had blurted out nineteen years earlier, nineteen years old and reckless at the heartbreak of her going somewhere he could not follow, even if in reality, he was the one leaving her.

She had stood there in all her extravagant finery, looking at him with tears sparkling in her eyes, leaning forward and he thought with fluttering anticipation, this was it, she was when she would tell him, _I need you,_ and he wouldn’t have to go anywhere without her again.

But she was pulling him into a gentle embrace and he knew, even before her smooth cheek brushed against his, metal wings from the circlet she wore digging awkwardly into the side of his head, before she raised her lips to his ear and whispered, voice thick with unmitigated sorrow, _If I do, I’ll let you know._

She hadn’t. Not until now, he thought, faintly aware of the vice around his heart squeezing as tightly as they had each other for that last, desperate heartbeat so long ago.

The lift chimed out that it had reached his floor. He hadn’t even realized he had put in a floor. 

He should get off.

He should go down the hall, find his rooms, get the new mission information off his datapad, pack, and report for his assignment.

He found himself making this mental to-do list at the same time he was stepping back into the lift and punching in a different floor.

_What am I doing?!_

Right now, he told himself, he was going to find another ship; he doubted Mace would be interested in taking a short detour to Mandalore.

* * *  
As they watched Obi Wan exit the chamber, Yoda could feel Ki Adi’s curious stare. Once the doors slid closed, he turned to where his former pupil was looking as if he very much wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure how. Yoda found that many people tended to get this look when speaking with him, though he couldn’t imagine why. “Something on your mind, you have?”

“Yes, Master,” Ki Adi started, hesitating slightly before continuing. “I think we both know there was nothing about Mace’s mission status that changed enough to warrant sending an additional Jedi, let alone another Council member. I guess I’m wondering why; Obi Wan did seem distressed at the message, but I failed to sense anything from him that would lessen my trust—“

“Trust him, I do,” Yoda interrupted. “The issue, trust is not. But there are things that I know. Feels strongly, he does, very strongly, and when controlled, a better Jedi it makes him. Get caught up in these feelings, however, and blinded by opinion, one can be. In his apprentice, we can see it, as we could in his Master.” _And his grandmaster,_ Yoda did not say, though the stubborn jut of Dooku’s chin when he had his mind set on something sent a flash of pain through his thoughts before he caught it and released it into the Force. “No different, Obi Wan is.”

Ki Adi nodded slowly. “So your concern is that his judgement may be impaired in this case due to these feelings?”

Yoda felt a brief touch of morbid humor. “Saw his _friend_ at his funeral, you did.”

Ki Adi paused and Yoda knew he was recalling the woman’s wretched sobbing and the utter devastation that radiated off her in waves so strongly they could actually be detected through the hurricane of grief taking up the entire room that was Anakin. “Well, yes, but it wasn’t until I saw him today that I considered the feelings might have been anything close to mutual. All the other admirers…”

Yoda rolled his eyes unsympathetically. “Yes, yes, an attractive nuisance he is, know this we do. Care about his safety, we should,” he emphasized.

Ki Adi’s eyebrows raised. “So you agree that this may be a trap for him?”

“Know, I do not,” Yoda admitted. “Tense, though, the Force is. Like it I do not at all. Better for everyone, it would be if he had something to occupy his thoughts. Good for him, this mission will be.”

Ki Adi did not speak for a moment, and Yoda could tell he was warring with his well-earned respect for Yoda and the thoughts Yoda knew everyone had been keeping from him these days. That the Grandmaster was getting too old, too stressed by the war. Too paranoid.

_If they only knew…_

“Shall I alert Mace to the change in plans?” Ki Adi asked, and Yoda relaxed slightly at his acceptance before shaking his head. 

“No, tell him I will. Retrieve the mission data for Obi Wan, you can.” Mace would undoubtedly have questions on why he suddenly had a mission partner, and Yoda didn’t particularly care to air other Knights’ troubles without cause. He would have to come up with another explanation— or if that failed, prod him into just going along with things for now.

“I will do that right now, Master,” Ki Adi said, bowing once before turning and leaving Yoda in the room alone.

His ear twitched. Yoda felt another rumble of the Cosmic Force, once as clear as a bell in his ear, now little more than hushed sayings twine past him and he reached out for it, only for it to slip through his metaphorical grasp as so many others had done lately. 

With the dawning darkness approaching, these days it was getting harder to see anything, and any and all loose ends needed to be reined in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to write something a little more serious than my other series, figured this would be a cool idea for a fixit!
> 
> I will Attempt to update on some sort of schedule, but I'm lowkey a mess, so all I can promise is that this fic will never be abandoned.
> 
> Lemme know what you thought in the comments below! :D


	2. Obi Wan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters go by (mostly) single-character POV, so length may differ in how long someone is witnessing a certain scene.

His steps echoed quickly through the halls of the temple as he strode towards his destination, providing a steady counterbeat to that of his own heart. 

He was doing the right thing.

He was leaving.

She needed him.

The _galaxy_ needed him. 

“Had you said the word,” he had promised her.

But _did_ she say the word? She hadn’t asked him to leave. She had asked for his help. It was his duty to help.

This might force him to leave, though. He was making a choice, was choosing her, and if the Council found out he had chosen her, which they would, this could very well be the end of his career. 

_For showing compassion?_

_For showing_ love.

_Love…_

Obi Wan brushed that thought aside.

He was her only hope. 

That was quite the flattering self-observation, now wasn’t it?

He politely told his inner voice to shut up, and increased his pace. Anakin shouldn’t be back for another hour or so, he had time, but his final briefing with the other council members took longer than he had expected— he suspected at least Yoda had an idea he was up to something but he hadn’t made any moves to stop him and Obi Wan wasn’t going to wait around to find out —and he didn’t want to risk a confrontation with his former apprentice. 

The last thought made his gut twist in unease again but he brushed it aside. It was better this way. Anakin would be irritated when he received the message saying what his former Master had “borrowed” from him, but after one or two ignored angry comm calls, Anakin would settle in a huff to wait and chew Obi Wan out in person when he got back, assuming the Council hadn’t already found out and got to him first. 

If he got back...

He shivered, Vizsla’s voice echoing in his head as he snarled that Satine was a traitor to her people. He knew the man and his followers would stop at nothing to destroy her. Yes, Obi Wan had bested Vizsla before, but the Force shifted nervously around him, vibrating with tension. Something about this meeting, he couldn’t tell what, would be different.

Maybe it was because never once in the nineteen years since he had walked away from her had she ever reached out and asked for him. She knew the risks for what they were, knew the potential consequences for the both of them if anyone were to know just as well as he did. Yet when losing her planet, instead of a plea to the Republic Senate or to the Jedi Council as a whole, she had chosen to single him out directly and earnestly proclaim that she needed him.

Obi Wan didn’t know if he agreed with Master Mundi that it was a trap for him personally, but one thing he was sure about was that planetary coup or not, there had to be something else, something worse, to get her to throw caution to the wind and reveal their deeper connection.

Last time she had done it, she had been certain she was about to die.

No, there was most certainly more that lay beneath the surface, and if it _was_ truly a trap for Obi Wan, then it was entirely his fault that Satine was in danger in the first place. His fault her whole planet was now suffering.

_But if she_ was _speaking like she was about to die... what if she’s already dead?_

No. Satine was alive. He knew she was. He would have felt it if she—

_His master’s cold, trembling hand on his cheek, quivering with draining life..._

_No._ He shook his head, shoving _that_ memory back into the tightly locked box where it belonged, wondering why it had decided to escape in the first place. He wouldn’t be too late again. He wouldn’t lose another person he cared about—

_(“Loved”, whispered that damn voice again. “Loved, you loved her. You love her still...”)_

—not if it killed him.

Speaking of people he lov— was _close to..._

He had reached Anakin’s door. Luckily, Obi Wan knew his door code (_because he trusts you with it..._) and he could sense no life forms inside. Quickly ducking inside, he promptly swore as his shin caught the pointed edge of a half-assembled droid that was piled along with a heap of other parts beside the entryway.

Having lived with Anakin and his “organization system” for over a decade however, Obi Wan knew how things worked by now. He did the complicated dance around various machine parts, stepping over a stray datapad and smoothing a kink in the hallway rug with his foot, being careful not to move anything from its spot. He made his way to Anakin’s room, unlocked door swishing open at his touch, and over to the worktable where he housed most of the smaller odds and ends of what he was working on. 

Obi Wan huffed at the disorganized pile of mainly scraps, not bothering to put things back where he found them as he picked through it as Anakin would notice he had taken what he was looking for either way. He moved aside a half-finished model Delta fighter and there: a smaller pile of datasticks holding the unlock codes for the five or so chronically ill ships the Temple mechanics were letting Anakin fly in return for him fixing them in his free time.

After a moment’s hesitation, Obi Wan chose the battered stick that belonged to the _Twilight_. He’d flown in that ship with Anakin before; it had a nasty tendency to break one part whenever you fixed the other, and they did crash that last time they were in it, but it was relatively light and quick and it steered well when it wasn’t falling to pieces. Obi Wan figured due to its junker status it was the one Anakin would be least upset about any potential damage.

The note he was drafting in his head to send to Anakin was sparse on details; if all went well, he’d be out and back with Satine in time to explain everything in person anyway.

Feeling like he was sealing himself to a certain fate the moment he pocketed the datastick, Obi Wan made his way back through the living quarters, steadfastly ignoring the prickling of the Force at the back of his neck. He ended up kicking the blasted droid piece by the door again, this time knocking the thing completely over. Obi Wan knelt to pick it up, quietly cursing Anakin and his messiness, only to stand up to see the door swishing open and the man in question on the other side.

“Woah,” Anakin yelped, jerking backwards. “Master, hi!”

Sithspit. 

Obi Wan, who had jumped himself, clutched the datastick more tightly, sticking that hand in the pocket of his tunics. He pasted a smile on, preparing for damage control. “Ah, Anakin. Fancy seeing you here.”

Anakin had recovered enough to arch a quizzical brow. “I do live here, Master.”

“Well I certainly hope so; otherwise it would make things quite awkward if I was accidentally looking through someone else’s quarters,” Obi Wan joked, upping the banter to try and cloak the lie he was about to tell. “Apologies for popping in uninvited, I had figured you wouldn’t mind if I came by and picked up something I left last time I was here. I would have let you know, but I thought you were spending the evening with the Chancellor and I didn’t wish to disturb you.”

Obi Wan made an effort not to let the last part sound accusatory; any other time besides this he would be secretly relieved.   
The fewer and fewer instances they had leave on Coruscant these days, whatever portion of Anakin’s free time that wasn’t being monopolized by visits to the secret wife he still thought Obi Wan didn’t know about more and more often was spent meeting with Chancellor Palpatine. 

Obi Wan didn’t envy the man his difficult job, and was more than loyal to the Republic itself but personally, something about Palpatine had always just rubbed Obi Wan the wrong way, and he had a strong suspicion that the feeling was mutual.

Anakin wasn’t blind to Obi Wan’s opinions regarding the Chancellor, and it was a point of contention between the two of them, so Obi Wan was glad when his friend simply shrugged at Obi Wan’s mentioning of the other man. 

“We talked for a little bit,” Anakin explained, wrinkling his nose as he continued, “but then the Chancellor got an urgent comm call. I could tell something was wrong the second he picked it up, so we ended up having to reschedule dinner so he could clean up whatever political mess someone dumped on him.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Obi Wan said, subtly checking his wrist chrono. If he left atmosphere within the next hour to half hour, he would reach Mandalore in approximately—

Anakin’s snort brought him back to the present. “Don’t lie to me.” Obi Wan had a moment of panic, excuses on his tongue, how in the hells did Anakin even figure out—

“We both know you don’t like me meeting with him,” Anakin said, and here Obi Wan relaxed slightly both at the false alarm and the lack of confrontation in Anakin’s tone. “However,” Anakin continued. “Since I’m now currently free of any dinner plans and Pad— erm, anyone else I know won’t be on planet until at least tomorrow, I was wondering if you’d want to grab a bite to eat?”

Obi Wan blinked, the last lines of Satine’s message playing through his head. “Hmm? Dinner?”

Anakin gave a hesitant chuckle. “That’s the idea.” His hand migrated up to rub at the back of his neck. “Ahsoka’s out with friends so it would be just the uh, just the two of us, if that’s cool with you. There’s this new fusion restaurant that’s only a district over, I’ve heard it’s really good, but if you weren’t in the mood for that we could just run and grab something from Dex’s— if you want, anyway. We wouldn’t have to go if you’re not hungry right now, I know it’s kind of late. We could stay here for a bit and like, spar or something? Watch a holoshow, I don’t know, I just figured since we haven’t done anything like that in a while—“

“Anakin,” Obi Wan held up a hand to halt the stream of babble. He cursed himself for making his former apprentice so obviously uncomfortable; Force, the turmoil of his unbalanced mind must be radiating off him in waves. “That all sounds like a fine plan.”

Anakin ducked his head, lip quirked upwards. “S’just dinner, not a big deal.”

Obi Wan took a moment to look at his eyes, the deep, clear blue shining like a holoprojection. 

_(Satine’s face on the holo, was it especially pale or was it just the lighting, was it bruised, was she hurt?)_

Obi Wan’s mind shot back to the issue at hand. “Unfortunately,” he managed, running his thumb reassuringly over the datastick in his pocket, “I must decline. I have business this evening, the Council...” He trailed off, hating the way Anakin’s soft face hardened like stone. “I do wish—“

“No, I get it,” Anakin interrupted, voice forcibly light. “Duty calls and all. You didn’t find what you were looking for?”

Obi Wan started at Anakin's questioning stare, realizing now that he didn’t appear to be carrying anything. He removed his hands from his pockets. “Ah. Actually, I—“

Anakin cut him off again. “Let me guess. You were looking for your robe?”

“My robe,” Obi Wan agreed, faintly recalling that yes, he did leave a robe here on a recent visit to his friend. “That’s alright, though, I can return later and—“

“No, you’re already here.” Anakin brushed past him into the apartment, taking Obi Wan’s hand and pulling him in after. “When we found it, I had Snips toss it in with the other dirty laundry to be cleaned. I haven’t had the chance to put all the clean things away yet so it’s still in the bag, you probably didn’t check there.”

Anakin ducked into his room and Obi Wan hovered uncertainly in the doorway, eyes drawn guiltily to Anakin’s worktable. 

_Tell him the truth,_ his mind urged him. _Anakin of all people would understand!_

Obi Wan firmly shushed it. Explaining the situation to Anakin would take time, he reasoned to himself, time Satine didn’t have. He had already dallied far too long, and he did not need to be stalled further by whatever argument Anakin would undoubtedly put up against his going— or worse, try and insist on coming with him, and he refused to drag Anakin into this mess.

_It’s almost like walking into a potential trap alone is highly frowned upon by anyone with common sense,_ the voice in his head sang.

_Traps are meant to be sprung,_ Obi Wan retorted, the desolation in Satine's eyes boring through him, that slight hitch in her voice winding across his heart. She needed him, he told himself.

_Did she say_ the word, _though? Is that what we’re doing?_

Obi Wan squashed that thought, addressing Anakin’s back where he was rummaging through a bag. “I can come back for it, I actually should get going...”

“Hang on, here it is.” Anakin emerged from the bag, waving Obi Wan’s robe triumphantly. “Patience is a virtue, Master,” he lectured in a teasing imitation of Obi Wan’s accent.

Obi Wan rolled his eyes. “Funny, I didn’t realize you knew the word.” He held out his hand for the robe, only to sputter when Anakin tossed it over his head. Removing it proved difficult when another pair of hands were felt grabbing bits of fabric. Obi Wan sighed, resigning himself as Anakin fitted the hood over his head and draped the rest around him, pulling it tight. “I really do need to go,” he told him.

Anakin smirked. “There’s that patience again.” He gave Obi Wan’s hood another tug. “Make sure you keep an eye on this one, I won’t be there to pick it up for you if you forget it again. What is this, your sixth?”

“Fifth,” Obi Wan corrected. He was fairly certain, anyway. “Tell me, how many lightsabers have you lost, again?”

Anakin sniffed. “Low blow, Master. I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“I know,” Obi Wan murmured, eyes tracing the pouting lower lip, the glittering eyes, the glowing aura that twined around their Bond like a patch of permanent sunlight, warm and comforting.

_Who’s going to look out for him?_ the voice taunted. _Aren’t you leaving him too? Someone else needs you more, you said._

Obi Wan snarled at the voice for silence as he broke Anakin’s gaze. “Well, I’d better be off,” he said, turning on his heel and making for the door. “Thank you for my robe, and I’m sorry again we couldn’t go out tonight.”

“No problem,” Anakin called after him as Obi Wan ducked through the door, hoping to leave his lingering guilt behind him. 

Once again, Obi Wan made his way to the exit of Anakin's quarters, datastick burning a hole in his pocket. Once again, he was halted at the front door, this time by the sound of footsteps coming up behind him.

“Obi Wan?”

Obi Wan turned, any annoyance he might have felt vanishing at the odd tone in Anakin’s voice. He forced himself not to falter at Anakin’s suddenly intense gaze, examining him like he would a droid that needed fixing. “Are you feeling okay, Master? No offense, but you’ve felt kind of... _off_ the whole time we’ve been talking. Is something the matter?”

Obi Wan winced internally. He must really be out of it if Anakin noticed something wrong; he wasn’t proud of it, but he had long since mastered the skill of effortlessly pulling one over on his friend.

_A Jedi does not let worldly attachments cloud the mind..._

Obi Wan put on his best puzzled expression. “Nothing’s the matter, Anakin, why would it be? Are you feeling well?”

_A Jedi does not use their abilities to lie and deceive..._

Anakin frowned, shaking his head. “What, me? No, I’m fine. I’m worried about _you,_ don’t try and turn things around on me.”

“I’m not trying to ‘turn things around’, I’m just saying that there is nothing for you to worry about,” Obi Wan insisted, desperately wondering why Anakin’s overprotective streak had decided it needed to kick in at this particular inconvenient moment.

He forced his end of their Bond to remain pleasantly blank as Anakin gave it a suspicious prod. His eyes narrowed. “You’re up to something, I can tell.”

“Simply business, I assure you,” Obi Wan said, sneaking another glance at his chrono. 

_Blast it._

“Now if I'm late, there could be a reason to worry, so if I may?” Obi Wan gestured to the door and Anakin, after a couple precious moments spent staring at him, stepped backwards. Obi Wan scooted by him and into the hallway, refusing to meet the eyes he knew were boring into him accusingly.

It was for the best Anakin did not know, he told himself.

“Will you be gone long?”

Unable to help it, Obi Wan stopped to answer Anakin’s question, talking over his shoulder to avoid facing him. “I doubt it. I’ll talk to you soon, alright?”

Anakin sent the mental equivalent of a poke in the side through their Bond. “I’ll hold you to that. You better not be acting weird again.”

Obi Wan childishly poked him back. “No promises.” 

He walked away before Anakin could respond, and he didn’t know whether to be thankful or not that a response never came.

_Need someone to talk you out of it?_

Obi Wan was not going to think about Anakin anymore, he had the keystick he needed from him and now all he needed was the away bag he kept in his room for missions. Setting his mental timer, he resolved to be in the air in half an hour.

* * *

Half an hour later, Obi Wan was still in the Temple hangar, cursing himself, Anakin, and the universe at large. Of course he, in all of his infinite luck, had managed to pick the one ship that was actively mid-repair.

The _Twilight_ had _seemed_ fine when he approached it, if a little dented in places and a wonky boarding ramp, but the cockpit had appeared perfectly normal and intact when he fired everything up— until he had actually started lifting off the ground, when of course the entire dashboard lit up, complete with earsplitting alarms, and the ship started to shudder and moan like a great dying beast. He had had to land and poke around for the source of the issue, which proved to be a tangle of faulty wire coupling deep in the engine that led to the fuel line.

Obi Wan had been wasting time neither he nor Satine had fixing the damned thing, and he was nearly ready to reveal his whole plan by giving up and using his Master’s clearance to sign out a Temple ship, when finally he found the source of the issue at hand and managed to reconnect the crossed couplers.

Just as he was finishing up, there was the rapping of someone’s fist on the hull outside. He startled violently, cracking his head on the metal above him and sliding out of the engine hatch with a pained groan.

“Pretty nice of the Council to assign you to fix my ship.”

“It is not _your_ ship,” Obi Wan said reflexively, glowering through his new headache up at where Anakin stood in front of him, arms crossed.

Anakin glowered right back. “Well the keystick for it was in _my_ quarters before you stole it, so I’d say that’s close enough.”

Head still spinning, Obi Wan struggled to regain the upper hand through the feeling of wrong-footedness that came from being the one getting caught and scolded for once in their relationship. Rather hard to do when recent events already had his brain tearing itself apart.

“It was not _stealing_,” Obi Wan said. “I was going to let you know I had borrowed it as soon as I left.”

It was a pitiful excuse and they both knew it. “Yeah, that’s the exact kind of thing that you’d pitch a fit over if I did it.” Anakin reached out to feel at Obi Wan’s injured head, only to draw back with a hurt expression when Obi Wan swatted him away. “You know I would have let you borrow it if you asked. Seriously, Obi Wan, what the hells is up with you right now?”

“Nothing!” Obi Wan snapped, forcibly reining himself in when Anakin’s raised brows told him he was only proving the point. He sighed. “Look. I apologize for not letting you know outright, but I needed an unmarked ship. This assignment was time sensitive and top-secret, so—“

“Oh, I get it, not for the ears of only a lowly Knight?” Anakin was flaring up now, and it took the last of Obi Wan’s control to keep from firing right back at him. 

“No, it’s not for the ears of anyone because it is a _need-to-know mission_, that is all! I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was taking the ship, but I really didn’t think it would be something you would be so upset over!” Obi Wan took this as an opening to fish into Anakin’s mind because he was right, this _wasn’t_ something that should have made Anakin anything more than irritated. He recognized the familiar dark cloud of prickly, angry anxiety that had settled over his friend as a surefire sign that there was something deeper that had Anakin worrying badly, but it seemed that as usual, he was more in the mood to be aggressively contrary than to say what was truly bothering him.

Anakin responded to his mental knock with a rude shove outwards and increased shielding, which hurt more than Obi Wan would admit. “Well then obviously you don’t know me so well!” he shot back, which hurt Obi Wan exactly the way he intended it to. It was a mutual sort of fear that was one of the things they Did Not Talk About; that they were growing apart and neither of them knew how to stop and fix it. “I for one think I’ve made it pretty clear by now that leaving me out and not telling me things is a dick move!”

“It is just a mission!” Obi Wan said in complete bewilderment.

Anakin threw his hands up in the air. “And you’re still doing it!

“What am I doing?” Obi Wan hissed, realizing the potential for how loud this conversation could get and lowering his voice so as not to draw attention—

“Master Kenobi.”

_Like that..._ Obi Wan wilted, turning with another fake smile to greet his new mission partner, Mace Windu, mind on fire as to how to talk his way out of this. He prayed to the Force Anakin wouldn’t give him away. “Master Windu,” Obi Wan greeted back. “You’re early.”

Mace stopped in front of them, giving a perfunctory greeting to Anakin, who grunted eloquently in response. Obi Wan could feel the tension still simmering inside him, hurriedly cutting his end of the Bond to keep it from looping it into his own already frazzled nervous system.

Mace shrugged. “Never hurts to be. I see you are too, though this is Hangar 4, not 5.” 

Yoda must not have told him about Satine’s message, Obi Wan realized, as Mace certainly would have looked on finding him here with suspicion rather than the faint curiosity that shone in his gaze from what Obi Wan guessed was wondering why he suddenly had a tagalong on his seemingly straightforward assignment.

Obi Wan grinned genially, desperation causing him to do what was normally unthinkable and dropped his shields over his side of the Bond completely, flooding Anakin with the full force of his _please go along with this_. Anakin stiffened beside him with a hushed strangled noise, but Obi Wan spoke right over him. “Oh, I was on my way, but I spotted Anakin here getting ready to go out in his ship, and I figured I had time for a chat.”

Mace had thankfully been focused on Obi Wan rather than Anakin before this and swept to fix the younger Knight with a quirked eyebrow. “Where are you going, then?”

Obi Wan could feel Anakin bristling, and he didn’t know if it was respect for him or disrespect for Windu that had him answering immediately, “Oh, just a test flight around the planet. There’s been some issues with the engine-to-fuel line and though I think they’ve been fixed—“

Obi Wan winced internally at this, fairly certain that was a shot at him. In retrospect, he was glad the area of the ship he had been working in was more electric than grease, being covered in dirt would have been even more to explain to Mace.

“—but I’d like to see how she handles the pressure change of exiting and entering atmosphere before I’d risk her on a long distance flight,” Anakin was finishing, and Obi Wan knew that last part was definitely a shot at him for planning to just patch it and run.

“I see,” Mace said, giving the ship a polite once-over.

Just as Obi Wan was ready to be grateful to Anakin for playing along, the damn traitor said, “Where are _you_ headed, Master Windu?”

Obi Wan went through a list of all the curses he knew in his head as Mace’s glance now turned mildly suspicious as he looked at Obi Wan again. “Obi Wan didn’t tell you? It’s just a quick trip to Elul’i to guide some peace talks. We should be back within the week.”

“I was getting to it,” Obi Wan put in, focusing on Mace instead of Anakin, who had gone very silent. Obi Wan was dismayed to sense through Anakin’s shields that the dark cloud had grown bigger.

Mace rolled his eyes, and was that a grin? “I hardly think it warrants a dramatic goodbye.”

“Of course not, Mace. I have some faith in your skills,” Obi Wan replied, happy to distract Mace into giving him an unimpressed glare while Anakin _still wasn’t saying anything_.

“Speaking of,” Mace said, “do you want to come to the ship now to look over the mission briefing? I know we didn’t get a chance to look it over together before...”

_Because you came on so last-minute,_ the rest went unsaid, and Obi Wan was ready to go with him just to defuse the situation a bit and get away from Anakin’s prying, when the latter finally spoke up.

“Actually Master Windu, Obi Wan and I were kind of talking. Would you mind giving us a minute?”

Anakin was eyeing Mace petulantly, daring him to argue, and by the look on Mace’s face, he more than wanted to address the obstinance. Obi Wan was ready to address it himself and say that he was sorry, but he really should be leaving to prepare, but it seemed that Mace was wiser about picking his battles, because he simply sighed and shook his head. “I’ll be at the meeting point whenever you’re ready, Obi Wan.”

It was fairly obvious “whenever you’re ready” meant “Get over here soon”, and Obi Wan could only watch as Mace walked off, stopping a couple paces away to converse with another Knight.

Alright, Mace would be waiting for him for however long he expected this thing with Anakin to last, so Obi Wan still had a small window of opportunity to get a ship out now. He might as well just sign one out himself if Anakin proved uncooperative, it wasn’t like Mace wouldn’t notice his failure to show up entirely in an hour or so.

Deciding on that plan, Obi Wan focused on the only obstacle: removing himself from Anakin's scowl. 

“So you’re just going to Elul’i?” Anakin questioned, and despite the sudden tautness of the Force around them at the question, Obi Wan was already hurrying to respond. 

“Yes Anakin, I told you, just a simple mission. I guess the Council has deemed you ‘need-to-know’ then. Congratulations.” He said it in a teasing way, hoping Anakin would see it as the olive branch it was, but Anakin’s face just grew even stonier.

Doubt. “Mace seemed to already have a ship all picked out for you guys”

Defiance. “We were thinking about taking two.”

Repetition. “To Elul’i.”

Exasperation. “Yes! To Elul’i!”

“Then it seems you made some sort of mistake, because you set the _Twilight’s_ coordinates for Mandalore.”

Obi Wan tripped over his own tongue at the accusation— the _truth_ —hurled at him out of kriffing nowhere. He gaped at Anakin, unable to form words as the other man’s lips twisted in grim triumph. “When I first got here I checked the cockpit before finding you; I wanted to see if it had spazzed out again since someone tried to fly it before it was ready. I saw the navicomputer, Obi Wan.”

_And what of it? Why does me going there bother you?_ That approach wasn’t going to get Obi Wan anywhere. He exhaled very slowly. “Anakin—“

“I was wondering why you felt the need to literally sneak behind my back to avoid telling me you were going to see your girlfriend—“

“She’s not my—“ Obi Wan started reflexively before cutting himself off with the indignant realization that here was _Anakin_ lecturing Obi Wan on not telling him about the woman in his life.

Bloody little hypocrite.

Oh dear, he didn’t mean to actually laugh in Anakin’s face at that.

Anakin stopped at the laugh, jabbing a warning finger in Obi Wan’s face paired with a venomous look before continuing. “That’s not it though. You don’t have an assignment to Mandalore, you have an assignment to Elul’i with Windu, who you just lied straight to his damn face then got me to lie to him because you’re trying to creep around him too! I’m going to ask you one more time what the fuck is going on, and don’t you dare lie.”

Each word was another chip away at Obi Wan’s self-restraint, and he couldn’t help snatching the accusing finger out of his face— or squeezing it tight enough to bruise once he realized it was the metal hand. “None of this,” he got out, voice unfamiliar in ears that had started buzzing again, “is any of your concern whatsoever.”

Anakin wasn’t daunted, getting up in his face. “Like shit,” he spat. “You’re actively avoiding the Council which means either you’ve finally lost it or you actually did something wrong, maybe even both.”

“I have not done anything wrong!” He hadn’t. He _wasn’t_ doing anything wrong. The Code preached compassion and help to those in need. The Order may have its hands tied by the Senate, but if Obi Wan went on his own accord, he would be able to fulfill the Jedi mandate and do the right thing and if the Senate objected, well, Obi Wan was a Jedi first and foremost. He would take full responsibility for upholding his oaths above all else.

_What do your oaths say about unhealthy attachments?_

This wasn’t about an attachment. Just because it was Satine did not mean—

_You’ve already told so many lies today; do you really want to go there?_

Anakin’s slight grimace of pain caught Obi Wan’s attention and with a flush of shame he remembered pain receptors for metal hands were a thing, dropping the hand he had been crushing while furious at himself. He needed to pull himself together. Everything was fine.

“Look,” Anakin said, crossing his arms again. “I’m all for you finally removing a bit of that stick from where it’s shoved, but this isn’t normal for you and we both know it. Why Mandalore, Master?”

Obi Wan did not have time for this, and he was clean out of excuses. He snuck a look at the wrist chrono again. 

Fine. 

_Fine._

Obi Wan took a deep breath. “I am going because the Duchess called in a longtime favor from me. It wouldn’t be official, so there is no need to trouble the Council with it.”

Anakin said nothing for a moment, staring at him. “Oh,” was what came out eventually, a bit higher than usual if Obi Wan wasn’t mistaken. “Oh, so if she calls, you come?”

“Don’t be rude,” Obi Wan warned, frustration growing. Why was the man with the secret wife acting so scandalized over this; he thought Anakin had liked the idea of him and Satine, what with all the teasing, he at least hadn't expected a negative reaction. 

“Rude? You’re being crazy! Where did this come from?”

“How am I crazy for wanting to help someone?”

“You’re crazy for wanting to do it now! With everything going on, we— people need you!”

Obi Wan snorted. “Your newfound concern for Mace is notable, but I am certain he will be able to accomplish this mission without me.”

“And what about everyone else?” Anakin argued, and Obi Wan swore he was sensing something that felt like fear in him, though he couldn’t imagine why. He’d gone into more dangerous situations.

“Anakin, I can only do one thing at a time, and I need you to understand that I must do this now!”

“And I need you to understand that this is selfish!”

_”Selfish?”_ Obi Wan might actually throttle him, how _dare_ he, _selfish—_ “How the kark is me saving a woman’s life being selfish?”

_When you choose her over the greater good,_ the voice whispered him and he smacked it away.

The pinched anger on Anakin’s face shifted to confusion. “Wait, what do you mean saving her life?”

Ah, Obi Wan had said too much. 

Slag it. 

Well, in for a portion, out for a credit. He was out of damn time.

“Mandalore has been taken over by the Death Watch, and Satine is in grave danger,” Obi Wan explained. 

Anakin’s eyes widened, fire extinguishing. “Death Watch? Why didn’t you say she was in such big trouble?”

“I sort of figured that was implied when I told you she had called for my help!” Obi Wan exclaimed. “What in the Force did you think I was going there for, a vacation?”

Anakin was suddenly not meeting his gaze, and Obi Wan felt the instant urge to pull his own hair out. _”Anakin.”_

“You really like her, okay!” Anakin blurted out, cheeks turning a slight pink. “You do, I know it, don’t deny it. And she likes you too! You were being secretive, and I just thought—“

“You just thought what?” Obi Wan asked flatly, ignoring the feeling of his own face heating up. “You thought that in the middle of the galactic civil war, a multi-system monarch decided to just have me over on a whim and we would do _what?_”

“Well you would do it!” Anakin shot back. “You said you would, I heard you! On her ship, when that bomber had her, she said that she loved you and you said that if she asked, you’d leave to be with her!”

“I…” had absolutely said that, but there was so much context Anakin was ignoring and stars, Obi Wan hadn’t even sensed him following them at that point.

_But you meant it then. What about now?_

Obi Wan groaned internally, but Anakin was still rambling. “…and during your stupid funeral she was really upset and saying how she wished she _had_ said something—“

Obi Wan had not been informed of this development.

“—and it’s been long enough since you’ve came back by now that everyone’s just a little annoyed at you for doing that, so maybe she finally got around to actually going for it, and this karking war from hell’s just been draining everyone and we never talk and I know other people are breaking and I just…” Anakin trailed off, staring at Obi Wan with a twisted, complicated expression that Obi Wan had absolutely no clue what to do with, nor the tidal wave of emotions that had came with it.

Damn it all, there were _reasons_ why they Did Not Talk About things like this.

They just gawked at each other for a couple of clicks before Anakin withdrew first, dragging them both onto more familiar ground with him. Time to ignore all of that. “Okay, so maybe now I’m the nutty one for saying this, but you should really take that to the other Council members. Death Watch is bad news.”

“The Council has asked the Republic Senate for permission, but as Death Watch is no longer in league with the Separatists, we do not have the authority to intervene on a neutral system,” Obi Wan parroted back, and Force, Anakin was never going to take his words about respecting the Council seriously ever again, that was sour enough to shrivel your tongue.

Anakin blinked, staring at him oddly. “Wait, so the Council knows and said no, but you’re doing it anyway?

“It doesn’t go against the Code.”

_Well…_

“It doesn’t,” Obi Wan repeated.

“It still won’t be pretty for you when you’re found out,” Anakin told him, eyes glittering. “Which you will, you know, since you’re about to bail out of a mission with _Windu_ to go get her.”

“She could die,” Obi Wan said stiffly. “Someone needs to help her.”

“Oooh, careful, that sounds like you care a little too much about her.” Anakin snarked, something sharp lying underneath the words.

Obi Wan felt his fingers balling up. Satine could _die_ and Anakin was making jokes. “Are you seriously telling me if you were in this situation, you wouldn’t do the same?”

Anakin’s humor vanished. “No, I’m calling you a hypocrite because when I _was_ in this situation, you told me not to worry about the woman I knew was going to die, just like the Council did.” Anakin leaned in close again, looking Obi Wan directly in the eye. “Guess what, Master? She died.”

_Blast, that wasn’t what—_ Obi Wan dug his fingers into his temples. “I’ve said I was sorry about your mother,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean—“

“It’s fine,” Anakin said. They both knew it wasn’t. “I’m not asking for an apology. I just want you to admit that you’re only doing this because you care about Satine, none of this perfect Jedi poodoo. We both know the Code says to hang her.”

Anakin was so completely in the wrong here and Obi Wan was not even going to dignify that with a response because _no_, and maybe all the thoughts crashing around in his head were what possessed some part of him to flash back, “Actually, I meant what if this were Padmé?”

Anakin went tense like a live wire.

_Well, now I’ve done it._

“I’d…” Anakin stammered, fists flexing and eyes and aura both sparking dangerously. “I’d be worried, of course, you know she’s a Senator, very important, she’s also my friend, but I don’t know why you’d—“

No.

No, Obi Wan was not doing this, not today.

Anakin had just forced him to stand here while he tore his secrets right off the bone, and Satine was alone on Mandalore, and Obi Wan had no clue what in the Sith hells he was doing, and Anakin really just drove him up a wall sometimes and he might not even see him again if this went badly like the Force was murmuring about, so if Anakin wanted Obi Wan’s honesty, he might as well throw everything on the table.

“Stop this,” he cut Anakin off. “I have known about you two since your marriage three years ago. No, I haven’t told a soul, and I will not do so ever. I wanted you to be happy and I hope you are. You can think what you want about Satine and I, but someone needs to rescue her, and I need to go. Goodbye, Anakin.”

Obi Wan closed his mouth and turned away from Anakin doing his best impression of a fish gasping for air. Obi Wan might have just ruined absolutely everything. Kriff, he had so much more to lose than he thought he did.

He did not think about how Anakin didn’t even try to follow him.

As he walked away, he forced himself to focus on his breathing, trying to get it under control so his heart would follow. Also, focusing on breathing meant not focusing on the startled blue of Anakin’s eyes that faded into the desperate blue of Satine’s shining in the hologram, and then back to Anakin, and then—

Obi Wan snagged up whatever he could mentally grasp and released into the Force in one explosive burst. He had to believe he was doing the right thing, and right now he needed to concentrate on the shifting sands of his plan.

Mace still hadn’t come looking for him yet, so all Obi Wan had to do was get his hands on the nearest ship available and go.

He was almost at the technician with the pad who was signing out ships when he felt the tug of the Force at his tabards.

The universe, Obi Wan decided, hated him. If it hadn’t been official for a long time, it certainly was now.

“Master Kenobi,” Yoda greeted him with a wrinkly pleasant smile. “The wrong hangar you have, I believe?”

* * *

Obi Wan had been gently guided by the Grandmaster back through the hangers until they reached Mace like a damn child. Once he had been transferred to the appropriate babysitter, Obi Wan had to strongly resist the urge to play the part and say something childishly rude to either of them as Mace went over the basics of the mission briefing, gracing both Obi Wan and Yoda with a deep side-eye every so often.

Yoda offered commentary of his own as well, and Obi Wan chimed in with the appropriate “yeses” and “I sees” when necessary, still lost in his own head. He looked at the shine of the blue projection of the mission details and all he could see was Satine getting surrounded by armed fighters.

Yoda wasn’t leaving, either, and Obi Wan was totally out of ways to subtly excuse himself. Once it was time to leave and Mace cocked his head at him to gesture for Obi Wan to join him up front, Obi Wan smiled thinly, murmured something about a headache and said he might just stay in the back and meditate.

Mace left him with another questioning stare and Obi Wan knew that sometime during this daylong trip he was going to be interrogated on why exactly he was here. He felt the faintest brush of the Force against him, and he stiffened to see Yoda looking at him softly from the base of the ship’s ramp. Yoda offered him a wave and an encouraging blink, and Obi Wan weakly returned some sort of gesture before the doors were closing and Yoda disappeared from view.

As the ship rumbled during takeoff, Obi Wan’s eyes were closed and his mind was circling on how exactly he was going to get his hands on a ship once he landed on Elul’i.

That wouldn’t be for almost a day, and it was about another one from there to Mandalore, depending on how fast your ship was and maybe you could shave off a parsec or two.

_Please, Satine. Please hold on._

* * *

It was about halfway through their trip and Obi Wan was meditating again. He and Mace had eaten briefly, and Mace had tried to bring up the topic of why Obi Wan had been so blatantly foisted onto this trip by Yoda, but Obi Wan had steered around it, and after the third failed attempt, Mace had given up and let him be in mostly silence.

Meditation was proving difficult, likely due to how unbalanced his mind was, but he finally had gotten into a semblance of semi-stasis within the Force.

Of course that was when his comm chose to go off.

Obi Wan was in no mood to talk to anyone, but there was the slightest hope in the back of his mind that maybe it was Satine, having escaped once again and letting him know she was alright. It was for that reason he checked the caller and oh, Anakin was alright too. More than alright, as knowing that Anakin was willing to talk to him rather than run away after what he had said would be one less thing off of Obi Wan’s shoulders.

He answered the comm. “Anakin?”

“So what exactly is the Duchess situation?”

Obi Wan changed his mind. He wanted to hang up now. “I think you know more than enough by now.” Why was Anakin even bothering him with this?

“I know that Death Watch took over. I don’t know what happened to Satine when they did. You said she’s alive, but…”

“She didn’t appear seriously injured,” Obi Wan found himself answering, realizing now he had had absolutely no one to talk to about this and Anakin seemed to have turned a leaf from trying to talk him out of going to her. “When she sent the distress call, it sounded like there was a fight around her. The last image the holo played was of her being captured by Death Watch soldiers.”

“Violently?” Anakin asked.

“I’m hoping not, Obi Wan snapped back, quickly turning to see if his raised voice had attracted Mace. 

“Sorry, sorry, just making sure. If they took her peacefully, it means they don’t want her dead quite yet, right?”

“Force willing.”

“So then, that means she’s probably being held somewhere. Doesn’t Sundari have that special prison?” There was something off about Anakin’s tone, and feeling more than slightly off all over, Obi Wan picked it up easily.

“Why are you asking me this?”

“I saw Yoda drag you out of there earlier.” Anakin didn’t answer his question. “Did you manage to get away?”

“No,” Obi Wan retorted. “I’m on the way to Elul’i right now, but I do have a plan to get to Mandalore though, so as much as I’m enjoying this strange pep talk—“

“I figured you didn’t make it out,” Anakin interrupted, and Obi Wan was intimately familiar with the way Anakin sounded when he was about to give Obi Wan some news he was not going to like one bit. “Don’t worry about bailing out and getting in trouble now though, I can pick Satine up for you.”

Obi Wan had to have misheard that. “I beg your pardon?”

A crackly sigh through the commlink speaker. “I can save your girlfriend, nerf-brain. I just dropped out of hyperspace above Mandalore.”

Obi Wan felt the floor drop out from underneath him. _”What?!”_

“You’re welcome.”

“Turn around.” Obi Wan couldn’t breathe again. “Turn around right this second, that is an order. Do _not_ engage.”

Anakin’s voice was alert. “Why? Am I tripping a sensor or something?”

“No! I’m not sure, but you need to go!”

“Why?”

“Dammit, Anakin, this is my mess, not yours. You didn’t even want me to go!”

“I didn’t want you to have to lose being a Jedi.” Anakin’s voice was strange. “That didn’t mean I was going to risk an innocent dying, Master, what do you take me for?”

“A fool who rushes into things with no critical thinking whatsoever!” Obi Wan spit out. No, Anakin could not be there.

“Wasn’t that exactly what you were about to do, traipsing in there alone?” Anakin drawled.

“Are you alone?” Obi Wan didn’t know if he wanted the answer to be yes or no; please let Anakin have retained at least a singular brain cell and thought to keep Ahsoka far away from this.

A pause, and Obi Wan held the breath he still couldn’t quite capture. “Okay, so I’m alone,” Anakin said eventually. “But, I’m just as good as you are, Master, I’ve got the same odds of success— if not better.”

“Anakin,” Obi Wan was speaking very slowly, focusing on the words and nothing else. “The Council theorized that this might be a trap set for me personally, you would be walking right into it!”

“If that’s the case, then you were even stupider for going alone,” Anakin informed him. “If anything, it’s better for me because they’ll be expecting you instead.”

“Mandalorians don’t discriminate in hating Jedi, Anakin.”

“And I don’t discriminate in who I hit, Master. Anyone in my way.”

“Interesting. You’re still turning around now.”

“Come on, Obi Wan. I promise you, not one scratch on the Duchess while she’s with me, that’s how safe she’ll be. Not even a hair out of place.”

_How safe will you be?_

“I mean it, Anakin,” Obi Wan warned. “Do not—“

“Ah, what? Sorry! I think the comm’s glitching!” Anakin was yelling into the device now, and Obi Wan yelled back. 

“Anakin, _Anakin don’t you dare._ You can’t just go in there, I can’t—!”

“See you soon, Obi Wan! I’ll say hi to your girlfriend for you!” 

“I cannot..." _lose you both, do you hear me?_ Obi Wan found himself almost telling the comm, only for it to make an ominous crunching noise followed by static that he was also all too horrifically familiar with. He had never been able to badger Anakin out of the rather expensive habit of simply crushing his commlink when he didn’t want to deal with talking to anyone anymore.

This entire frantic call, not once had Mace even peeked his head in here. Trembling mental tendrils stretching outwards, Obi Wan could sense Mace asleep in the copilot’s chair up front. He was alone, no one had overheard him.

Anakin was at Mandalore to rescue Satine.

Force help them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the land of everyone being a hot messy pot full of feelings...
> 
> Gahhh I'm so happy for the positive feedback I've received so far! The plot's kicking off now and I'm really excited to share the rest with everyone! ^.^
> 
> I'd love to hear what you thought in the comments!!!


	3. Anakin

Anakin watched in satisfaction as the commlink crumpled up into a warped wad of metal with the clench of his fist, relishing in the buzzing crunch it made that cut off the frantic voice of Obi Wan on the other end.

Honestly, it was a little offensive to Anakin’s skill that Obi Wan was so worked up over him going and doing the exact same thing Obi Wan was about to rush off and do— then again, this was hardly the first time his old master had decided he knew better than everyone else and went and pulled some ridiculously dangerous stunt under the assumption that he’d make it out fine if only because dying would be uncivilized.

As if it had heard Anakin’s dark musings, the _Twilight_ decided to promptly wheeze and send a kickback through the venting system that spat a burst of hot steam directly into Anakin’s face.

He swore sharply in Huttese, grabbing and twisting the filtration dial way past its recommended number. It would temporarily cinch the heat flow and prevent overheating, though the buildup of pressure that would cause on the auxiliary line meant leaving it like that long-term would be serious repercussions. 

The ship quivered again, and Anakin ran one hand over the dashboard with a murmured “Shh, girl,” other hand coming up to rub tiredly at his face.

This only further proved that Obi Wan had absolutely no sense whatsoever, what was he even _thinking_, taking the _Twilight_ when she was in this shape?

Of course, Anakin was the one suffering the consequences for it too, Obi Wan had already went and made it appear like Anakin was taking one of his ships out; for him to suddenly take another could prove suspicious, plus he wasn’t keen on sitting around on a rescue operation when he didn’t know if the victim had that time to spare or not.

Anakin had therefore gone and contradicted everything he had told Mace and did an obligatory five minute once-over of anything that would actively prevent the _Twilight_ from getting off the ground, then steered her right out of atmosphere and into hyperspace on the hope his temporary fastenings would hold. They had, if barely, with rattling and alarms going off when entering hyperspace, and more of the same when exiting. He had made it to Mandalore though, and that was the important thing.

There was another cough from the ship as they coasted over the sunlit side of the planet, and Anakin sighed. Obi Wan sure knew how to pick them— and Anakin didn’t just mean ships.

Okay, that wasn’t quite fair. Anakin could admit that most of the time it wasn’t exactly Obi Wan’s fault; he barely had to do any picking when everything and everyone just flung themselves right at him.

Though by that logic, Anakin could hardly fault everyone else either; Obi Wan was unfairly attractive in both looks and personality. This was just a fact, Anakin had lived with him for over a decade, he had eyes after all.

Except Anakin totally could fault everyone else because they had _not_ lived with Obi Wan for over a decade, they may have met him once, or twice, or multiple times but only for a short period each, and yet they all felt entitled to address him with undeserved familiarity, to touch when they shouldn’t and linger for far too long, to smile moonish smiles that didn’t hide a whit of what they were really thinking— and Obi Wan _humored them!_ He’d smile right back, laugh, talk, flirt, all warm and open in a way they did not deserve, and it drove Anakin more than a bit mad every time because _seriously? That one?_

To Anakin, it was fairly obvious that Obi Wan attracted a Type, and that type tended to be “Obi Wan could do so much better”. In Anakin’s opinion, anyway.

The Duchess of Mandalore had always been different.

Anakin had noticed this the first time he had seen her and Obi Wan interact. There had been no sly looks, no wiggled brows, no wandering hands. She had stood up and boldly picked a fight with him in front of a group of dignitaries— and Obi Wan had argued right back with her.

It had all gotten more interesting from there; Obi Wan would pull a pinched face when pressed for details, but when Anakin had finally managed to extract some from him, they were always spoken with soft nostalgia, the lines that had grown on his face gentling, and his aura almost seemed to sparkle. 

Maybe it had been the entertainment of seeing his usually unflappable Master get his feathers ruffled in a way normally only Anakin could manage. Maybe it was how similar Obi Wan’s tale of being on the run with a controversial political star was to the events that brought Padmé back into Anakin’s own life that had him projecting. Whatever it was, Satine Kryze never set off those alarms in Anakin’s head that nearly everyone else who tangled themselves up with Obi Wan did.

_Projecting... Padmé..._

His wife’s name running through his thoughts sent everything else stuttering to a halt, which wasn’t in itself unusual, but the way he suddenly felt fit to vomit definitely was.

_I have known,_ Obi Wan had said to him. _Three years._

Obi Wan knew about his marriage to Padmé. Had known the entire time.

That primal instinct in Anakin rose up again to _run, hide, he_ knows, _they will take her from you, you must protect her—_ Anakin shoved it back down irritably. 

Padmé and he were safe. Obi Wan hadn’t told anyone. He had said so.

The dark voice inside him snarled that their Master was a liar, and Anakin told it to shut up. Obi Wan said he had known for three years. He could have very well been lying about that as well, but as Anakin had to begrudgingly admit, Obi Wan did not lie to him as often as Anakin accused him of. 

Avoid the truth, yes (like sitting on the fact that you knew your best friend was married while he drove himself near insane for three years trying to keep it from everyone, _especially_ you), but he wouldn’t lie about that.

Which meant, and here was where Anakin struggled to get his head around the concept, Obi Wan had known for three years that Anakin had betrayed his oaths as a Jedi, a crime Anakin had thought Obi Wan would rather die than commit himself, and been… fine with it?

_I wanted you to be happy…_

Anakin scoffed. _Where was that attitude the past, I don’t know, ten years?_

He was being unfair again. For as long as they had known each other, as prickly as things could get on occasion, Obi Wan had never been anything less than a glowing, soothing presence in the back of his mind. He couldn’t imagine a world where Obi Wan wasn’t there, to be honest.

Then there, by that logic, was the issue at hand. For by all accounts, he _should_ be facing a life without Obi Wan in it because Obi Wan absolutely should have confronted him about his marriage before now and forced his hand to chose between his two oaths. Force him to choose Padmé because of course he would choose the path where someone loved him back; because Anakin was not enough of a Jedi to be able to let that feeling go.

Not like Obi Wan.

Obi Wan, who could love everything, but nothing more than everything else, who knew how be selfless and good— who absolutely felt things like a normal person, Anakin had seen it, he could be a bit of a hypocrite —but he could get over all that and not let his messy, uncontrollable emotions get in the way of his job…

Who wanted Anakin to be _happy?_ Even though Anakin was breaking all of the biggest rules?

Who didn’t seem to care as much for rules himself like Anakin had always thought he did, as he was ready to throw away everything at Satine’s call?

And he had cycled back around to Satine again. 

Given that she hadn’t set off any of his usual alarms at the time, Anakin had decided to take her side in the affair. He could understand her constant snappishness; having the misfortune to have a thing for Obi Wan and have to be around him constantly when he was Like That, all while knowing that absolutely nothing could ever come of it because he was a Jedi, it was heartbreakingly infuriating. Not that Anakin would know anything about that, of course, this was pure assumption.

He knew too, in a way, that Obi Wan had feelings for her as well. He could feel it in the way that Obi Wan’s shimmering aura always seemed the slightest bit dimmer when leaving her, the way his eyes would follow her throughout whatever room she was in. The way the Force rang with truth that day on the _Coronet_, when Anakin had lurked in the shadows and listened as Obi Wan told Satine that if she had said the word, he would have left the Order for her. Anakin had known these things.

He had thought he had known that it wasn’t like Obi Wan was actually going to act on those emotions. He was _Obi Wan_. He just didn’t do that. Anakin had also figured that after spending a year with his Master, Satine had understood this fact too.

Apparently, Anakin had understood less about Obi Wan than he thought, however, as all it took was a hint of Satine needing him and off he went, throwing aside everything he had always said about letting go in the same direction as Anakin’s wedding vows. If anything, this meant that Satine truly knew Obi Wan best, for she knew that even now, she but only had to ask.

In hindsight, Anakin may have _slightly_ overreacted when he first discovered that Obi Wan was trying to sneak off to Mandalore without telling him. So what if they hadn’t been talking as much recently? So what if Anakin had been feeling distant and isolated? There was an obvious difference between Obi Wan’s Councilor status getting him information Anakin wasn’t privy to, and Obi Wan deciding to just decide to randomly forget the war, the Order, his entire life, just because he might be a bit in love with Satine.

But if she was in danger and Obi Wan might be a bit in love with her… he was absolutely willing to risk all of that for her, and this was what Anakin could not handle. Obi Wan had been right to bring up Padmé; of course Anakin would have done all of that for her in a heartbeat, but he had never allowed himself to consider the implications of what that actually _meant_ for anyone involved.

Anakin and Padmé had discussed Anakin leaving the Order, them going public with their marriage, settling down with a family, but only ever in the “oh yes, that will happen one day, won’t that be nice?” sort of way. What Anakin had always knew, and what he had always lied to himself about, was that it was never that simple.

He had tried to think about it a couple times before; it of course wouldn’t happen until after the war ended, after the Sith were defeated, because Anakin had made a promise to the Republic and he intended to follow through. Not until after Ahsoka was Knighted, Anakin had made promises to her too. After that, though? 

Leaving the temple for good, turning in his lightsaber, wearing civilian clothing and only using a blaster— and only in self-defence, as he had no authority to help anymore. Lounging around Padmé’s luxurious homes, maybe racing souped-up death traps, maybe repairing old tech.

A peaceful life where he wouldn’t get to see the beautiful light of the rising sun stretching over the Temple’s north spire, where there wouldn’t be any more exhilarating crash of sparring sabers, no more pure elation at the joy of having saved a life. No more of Ahsoka’s tinkling laughter, her wildfire enthusiasm, her steady determination and support.

No more of seeing Obi Wan, not ever, _he wouldn’t want to see me…_

Anakin always pulled away, pushed off the future to deal with later.

What he had never even considered was the possibility of one where he was a Jedi and Obi Wan, while still alive, was not. It was nearly impossible to imagine. Obi Wan had always been that one constant.

Had all this time, Obi Wan been considering that same future Anakin was avoiding?

No, Anakin decided, he just could not imagine it. That life may or may not be for him, but it didn’t feel right for Obi Wan at all.

It wasn’t fair. Who knew if Obi Wan even wanted to risk _leaving the Jedi_ just to make sure his girlfriend didn’t die? Anakin had sure as hells still wanted to be a Jedi when he had feared his mom’s death, wanted to be one so bad he tried to listen to Obi Wan, to Yoda, about how to let those fears go. 

Then she died.

Then with the loss of her light, another part of his world went dark.

Even though he had been young, Anakin remembered how Obi Wan had been right after Qui Gon’s death. How he had been obviously trying so hard to put up a cool, unaffected front, and yet there would be tells.

The way Obi Wan would trail off mid-sentence for no apparent reason with a look as though someone had ran him through with a lightsaber. The wave of emotions Anakin could feel coming from the other bedroom at night, that he had never dared go in and interrupt. All the other little ways that showed his young Master was mourning deeply, painfully.

Obi Wan should not have to go through that again, lose another person, just to prove he was still a good, selfless Jedi. _None_ of them should go through that, Anakin thought angrily, and if anyone would actually listen to him when he tried to point this out instead of pointing fingers and calling him a heretic…

No wonder Obi Wan had finally snapped, Anakin realized. He honestly couldn’t blame him.

Anakin could help him with this, though. He wasn’t alone. There was no reason why it had to be Obi Wan tearing himself apart like this.

Anakin could easily go and get Satine himself, bring her back safe. Then Obi Wan wouldn’t have to do anything drastic like leaving, he could do what he actually wanted.

And if Obi Wan honest-to-Force wanted Satine?

She was smart, she was beautiful, she wasn’t a creep towards Obi Wan, and didn’t put up with his nonsense or anyone else’s. Anakin was nearly at the furthest point away from her personal beliefs, but he could begrudgingly respect her stubborn refusal to allow anyone to try and change who she was.

She had been a close friend of Padmé’s for years (Padmé, who also tended to associate far too often with those lower than her, in Anakin’s opinion).

Overall, Anakin decided he was doing the galaxy at large a favor by making sure she stayed alive, no matter what Obi Wan chose afterwards.

The chime of an alert brought Anakin back out of his musings, and at first he had thought it had been a response from Ahsoka on his communicator.

Unlike _some people who would not be named,_ Anakin wasn’t going to just run off without telling anyone where he was in case he was needed or something happened to him. He had messaged a quick not-lie to his Padawan as he left, telling her that he would be headed to Mandalore (truth) at the bequest of Senator Amidala (not a complete lie, Padmé would be happy to know he was helping her friend), and he should be back within a day or two (truth, hopefully); it was a personal favor so if this could possibly not be brought up unless directly asked by the Council, that would be great, thanks.

(He had then felt a bit guilty about using his wife as a cover, then messaged Padmé saying he and Ahsoka had been sent to do a quick recon flight around the Mandalore system (also not a total lie, he would be doing some recon) so at least she wasn’t _completely_ in the dark.)

Checking his commlink revealed no new messages, but another dinging sound made him realize just how out of it he had been to confuse his commlink with the ship’s notification system. Lazily stretching back in his chair and feeling the bones in his back pop, Anakin leaned over the dashboard to address the dinging of the navicomputer.

There. The ship was almost directly above the coordinates of the Mandalorian capital city, and Anakin refocused his attentions on the task at hand, pushing all those other troubling thoughts to the back of his mind and steered downwards.

He had decided to postpone atmospheric entry until he was as close to his destination as he could get, both to avoid detection as well as because of the risk of—

_Well, that._ A giant flare of orange whooshed up around the transparisteel with a roar as the _Twilight’s_ thrusters quaked with the effort of fighting atmospheric friction to descend. Anakin had had to channel nearly all auxiliary power into the weak shields; he just had to hope it would be enough as to not burn to a crisp before even trying a rescue operation.

_Just a bit further…_

The blinding amber glow brightened to a shock of white and then suddenly it was pale blue sky. Thinking he had cleared it, Anakin allowed his shoulders to release the tension had been building in them at the exact same time the _Twilight_ rumbled with an explosion and the smell of smoke flooded Anakin’s senses.

_Damn it all to hells._

The ship alert system was now wailing at him that the port engine had buckled under the entry pressure, and he was more than glad he had decided to drop in as close to the shimmering dome of Sundari as he had, as he wouldn’t be getting very far at all on half-engine power.

Angling in for the geometric cluster clinging to the side of the dome walls that he recognized as one of the public docks, Anakin resolutely ignored the crackle of his ship comm coming to life as what had to be Sundari air traffic control radioing in some sort of standard welcome and directions that Anakin muted with an irritated flick of his finger. He needed his concentration, this landing was going to be messy.

“Messy” turned out to be an understatement.

Anakin had barely managed to get the _Twilight_ into a space where he could reasonably land when the engines had decided to give out completely— while the ship was still a good couple of meters in the air.

The jarring crash of a plop-down had set off even more frantic beeping and steam throughout the cabin, but Anakin just sat there and let the ruckus wash over him as he worked through how the kark he was supposed to be able to take off again. With the ship in this state, he’d be lucky to get it off the ground, and hyperspace seemed highly unlikely.

Hardly the speedy getaway he knew they’d be needing— because contrary to what Obi Wan liked to say, Anakin did have enough self-awareness to know how most of his missions tended to end, thank you very much.

_Seriously, Master, you just_ had _to choose this one._

Anakin’s thoughts were rudely interrupted by the sound of banging on the ship.

He startled upon looking through the cockpit window and seeing the helmeted figure of a Death Watch soldier standing in front of the ship. The figure gave a wave of attention, then pointed around the back. He wanted Anakin to open the boarding ramp and come out. 

All of Anakin’s ire at Obi Wan for not thinking about things was immediately transferred to himself for being such a colossal idiot.

This guy was obviously expecting a landing permit, and maybe even to inspect the ship. Anakin did not have a landing permit, and even if he did, he doubted the soldiers would be too thrilled about taking one from a Jedi— which he obviously was, as he didn’t even consider bringing a disguise because he was an _idiot_.

Obi Wan would be so pleased to know that on what was supposed to be a stealth mission, Anakin was already five seconds from getting caught when he hadn’t even set foot on the ground yet. 

There was more banging, this time in the direction of the boarding ramp, and Anakin did some more frantic thinking. So far, it seemed like only one guard had noticed him, but more were bound to if this one made a big enough stink about not being let in.

Might as well get him out of the way, Anakin decided as he pressed the button that would lower the ramp and then slid into the shadows of the ship’s corridor to wait.

After letting the cautious set of footsteps make their way inside and then quickly knocking out the guy as he rounded the corner, Anakin crouched down to examine the soldier. He removed his blaster (then his other blaster, then his _other_ blaster, then his vibroblade, dammit, how many weapons did these guys have?) as well as his commlink in hopes he might find something useful for the plan that Anakin was honestly? Still creating on the fly.

So focused on his task, he didn’t notice more footsteps coming up behind him until he heard the _click_ of a blaster being cocked behind his head and a modulated voice snarling “Don’t move.”

Oh. There was a friend, Anakin realized, just another reason why he was an oblivious idiot for not sensing it. He cautiously raised his hands, only to grunt when a cord was immediately shot around them, binding him up as the soldier barked “I said freeze, _Jetii!_”

_Great._

He was recognized; that was just what Anakin needed right now. Indignation at being trussed up like a hunting trophy, anger at being caught this early and this easily, and overall frustration at himself, Obi Wan, Satine, and the entire situation at large reached a boiling point inside Anakin as the click of a comm being turned on behind him sounded. “Hello, command? Yeah, I think I’ve found somethi— ghk!”

A clench of Anakin’s fist sent the other soldier flying into the opposite wall where he hit with an ominous _crack,_ followed by a dull thud as he hit the floor.

Anakin wasted no time snapping his bonds with the Force, rushing back to the cockpit to raise the boarding ramp again and make sure no one else had decided to take notice— it didn’t seem so, fortunately. Only then did he go back to check his assailant.

The bad news was, the guy must have hit the wall the wrong way, because he was definitely dead. Oops.

The worse news was that he had been able to get out at least part of his comm call to someone, and that someone was likely to become suspicious and send people to investigate, meaning Anakin had to come up with something fast. 

Anakin scowled down at the guy’s stupid helmet and looking at it closer, just like that, a plan came to him.

It seemed for once the Force was taking pity on him for forgetting a disguise; Anakin could actually kick himself for not thinking of it earlier, he’d have much better luck getting into wherever Satine was and getting her out if he looked like the enemy— and it could also likely find him a better ship.

Anakin felt slightly guilty about the last part of his plan as he sent an apologetic look to the ship surrounding him, but it was necessary.

It would be ridiculous to try and save the _Twilight_ when Satine’s life was at risk, especially when with his new outfit he’d have a much easier time stealing a ship that could be reliably counted on to take off. His old girl could do him one last favor, though.

He stood up with a wince as the red armor pinched at his hip; the dead man was a good couple of inches shorter than Anakin was, and squeezing into his customized gear was not the most pleasant experience.

Oh well. The Mandalorians were in for a treat, Anakin knew his legs looked amazing in tight clothing. 

Placing the dead man’s bucket on his head and picking up his dropped blaster, Anakin was ready to start his plan. He ran back into the cockpit and made the necessary preparations, giving the pilot’s chair one last fond pat before running back out and grabbing the arm of the other soldier that he had simply knocked unconscious.

_Here we go._

He opened the boarding ramp, stomping on it once when it caught halfway, then hurtled himself and the other soldier down the ramp, flailing and yelling loudly.

“Hey! Watch out!” He could see heads turning in his direction, which was good, get everyone’s attention and then…

Once he hit the ground, Anakin tossed the deadweight off to the side, dove forward just enough, then pressed the button he clutched in his palm. 

The _Twilight_ exploded in a massive fireball, the shockwave knocking Anakin even further forward. He had been worried the charges he stole from the soldiers wouldn’t be enough, but if anything, he might have gone a bit overboard as he was now rolling to dodge the shower of flaming debris.

Chaos erupted around him, soldiers in red streaming out from nowhere and heading right for the blaze. As Anakin had hoped, all were too busy running around and yelling and brandishing blasters to take notice of one of their numbers on the ground subtly making his way away from the wreckage and not towards it.

He was almost to the entrance into the dome when he had to step back and out of the way of two more speeders tearing past him, unloading entire squads of soldiers with more jetpacking in from above, and something was not right.

Anakin had been hoping to cause a decent distraction, but this was way too many people to have all arrived here this fast for a random accident. It all seemed too focused, too organized.

Soldiers in command started barking orders for others to sweep the area, and he melted back into the shadows under the shade of the dome, not liking the implications of this one bit. He couldn’t waste time thinking on that now though, he had the opening he needed and it wouldn’t last forever.

Anakin set off at a jog towards the tunnel that opened into the city within, ready to enact the second part of his plan—

After one quick detour, Anakin decided, eye catching on a lone soldier landing their jetpack a couple paces away from him in a relatively secluded spot.

They really shouldn’t be by themself, Anakin thought, faux-casually making his way in their direction. Something could happen to them.

He had always wanted to fly one of those things…

* * *  
Soaring through the shimmering blue cityscape of Sundari on his newly acquired jetpack, Anakin reflected on how very fortunate he was to have looked over Ahsoka’s detailed mission report from her time here as a student instructor, given that he hadn’t actually visited inside the city before and only had the vaguest idea of where he was going.

_High security prison. A couple blocks from the palace, giant spire, why is everything here blue, I think that’s it?_

The tower he was coming up on certainly matched the one from the models and pictures he had seen, and the influx of security forces swooping around it seemed to confirm it.

Force, he hoped he was right about Satine even being held here. For all he knew, Death Watch had already killed her.

No, Anakin scolded himself. He wasn’t going to think like that. For Obi Wan’s sake as much as Satine’s, he couldn’t afford to.

There was a tense moment getting through the front door; Anakin came across the guard stationed outside it and had to mumble something in Mando’a about being late for a shift down there.

The guard didn’t step aside right away, cocking her head at him and Anakin tensed, ready to knock another person out. He knew that while his Mando’a was passable, multiple sources had commented on his strong accent and heavy usage of the clone dialect; it could very well attract him even more attention than if he went around speaking Basic.

The guard did step aside eventually, so Anakin was saved another confrontation as he slipped into the lift headed downwards. He hit the button for the floor with the security headquarters, ready to slice into records if necessary to narrow down where Satine was inside the massive complex.

It was a surprise then, when upon reaching a data terminal he only had to do the bare minimum of slicing to get pass the security clearance code. It was even more of a surprise, and not a tad alarming, to find that in the prison meant to hold thousands, only twenty cells were recorded as occupied.

Only one of those was in the high-security block.

Something was definitely off about this. All of it.

Anakin exhaled through his teeth and headed back off for the lift to the floor he needed, nodding jerkily at another guard who passed him.

That was another thing, there was hardly any prison guards here. Of course if there were only twenty prisoners the numbers would be cut back from full, but with one of those prisoners being the Duchess herself, it would figure there would at least be some display of measures taken to keep her.

Despite his own apprehension and the uneasy swirl of the Force around him, it took Anakin less than five minutes to reach Satine’s cell. To the prison’s credit, there were a few guards patrolling the immediate area, but with multiple cell blocks to cover per floor, Anakin only had to wait a moment for Satine’s corridor to empty and he could hurry over to her door.

She was sitting faced away from the doorway, only the back of a rumpled tunic and shiny blonde hair hung loosely around her shoulders visible to Anakin’s view, but from what he could tell she didn’t seem terribly injured.

A good start. Now he just had to keep her that way.

Swatting away the sudden sensation of random nervousness, Anakin pressed open the cell door.

Satine’s back straightened at the interruption, but other than the slight tilt of her head, she didn’t move. Her voice, when she spoke, was a bitter blade of ice. “Here to do more of your master’s bidding?” 

Anakin snorted despite himself. “You could say that.” 

Okay, so Anakin’s Master hadn’t actually _bade_ him to do this as much as _explicitly ordered him not to_. Whatever. Minor technicality.

His brief amusement melted as she whipped around to glare at him, and he had to force himself not to fidget as she gave him a critical once-over. Anakin would give her this, even deposed and imprisoned she was still every bit the fiery ruler, from her confident posture to the imperious glint of her eyes.

The Duchess raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that armor a little ill-fitting for you?”

_Why does she..._ “What—? Shit, right, the helmet.” He pulled the bucket off, giving her an awkward smile. “It’s Anakin Skywalker, I’m here to rescue you.” A pause. “Your Grace,” he added hastily.

Satine blinked, visibly taken aback. “Oh.” She coughed. “Erm, hello.”

Anakin definitely wasn’t imagining her eyes flickering to the hallway behind him as if looking for someone who wasn’t there.

He ran a brisk hand through his hair in a doomed attempt to tame how it always got after he stuffed it in a helmet, trying again for a joking grin. “Not who you were expecting, huh?”

There was a noise in the back of Satine’s throat that might have been a dry laugh. “I didn’t dare allow myself to ‘expect’ anyone, I wasn’t even sure if my message had gotten through.” She hesitated, and a flicker of trepidation made its way across her face. “Is… is he, are you—?”

“He couldn’t come,” Anakin said quickly, not wanting to hear the rest of the question, and not liking the way her face fell near immediately. Feeling the need to defend his Master, he kept talking. “He wanted to, he really did! The Council said that rescuing you was a bad idea and sent him away, but he was ready to ignore all of them and charge in here to get you anyway. I was the one who kept him from doing it.”

She just looked at him in confusion. “Why?”

“Because it was a stupid decision!” Anakin blurted out, regretting it instantly.

Satine had already reeled away from him, face hardening once more. “I see. That begs the question then,” she hissed. “If you found my request so outrageous, why are you standing here talking to me?”

“No! I wasn’t— I didn’t mean it like that!” Anakin let out a frustrated growl and ran a hand down his face, willing the words to form and come out correctly for five kriffing seconds. “I just meant that it was an awful choice! He shouldn’t have to choose between risking everything he’s worked for with a scandal and your possible _death,_ what kind of shitty options are those? It’s not fair to you either, you deserve to live!”

“Ta,” Satine said flatly.

“So of course I came to get you,” Anakin continued. “Then you’ll be out of danger, and if Obi Wan wants to make that decision about his priorities after, then there’s no pressure and he can do what he actually wants.”

_He can be happy,_ Anakin told himself. _He told me that he wanted me to be happy with Padmé, so if he truly wants to leave everything behind for Satine, I’ll be happy for him because he will be happy._

The venom in Satine’s stare had gone away, but she had replaced it with that searching look again, and this time Anakin gave in to the urge to fidget under it. “Also, the Council is used to being ticked off at me, so as long as I can prove that Obi Wan didn’t put me up to this, I won’t be in nearly as much trouble!”

The corner of Satine’s mouth quirked upwards, but the expression behind her eyes remained frustratingly unreadable. “I see,” she repeated softly. “That’s all very thoughtful of you.”

_What does she really think of me?_ Anakin shrugged helplessly. “He’s my best friend.”

There was that strange flicker across the Duchess’ face again, but before she could speak, the Force lit up with a warning.

Anakin stiffened, sensing one of the guards rounding the corner to walk down the outside hallway. He thrust out a hand to Satine, who had remained seated on the ground their entire conversation so far. “Looks like we’re about to have company. If you want me to just leave you in here and run, now would be the time to say so.”

Satine rolled her eyes, grasping his hand firmly and pulling herself to her feet. “You have obviously taken many risks coming to my aid,” she told him seriously. “It would be a pity to let your efforts go to waste.”

_Well there’s a vote of confidence._ Anakin was going to take that as a “thank you”.

He offered her another grin. “One escape coming up, Your Grace.” He put his helmet back on— maybe that last wink had been too much, because he could practically hear her second eyeroll as he peeked back out the open cell door and caught the attention of the guard, who started walking briskly towards them. 

He had originally planned on simply knocking the guard out and throwing them in the cell, but as they headed towards him, Anakin had another idea.

“Hey, Your Grace, what was that you were saying about stolen armor not fitting right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy, Anakin's mindset in this chapter fought me a bit (and then of course he decided to talk much longer than I thought he would xD), but I think I'm finally satisfied with it. We're getting into the action now guys!!!
> 
> Shoot a comment my way if you got something to say! ;)


	4. Satine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is over 10k words, just a warning.
> 
> Another warning is that I take from Mando canon what I want, and if something seems not-canon to you, I shamelessly made it up

Anakin Skywalker had been correct; despite Satine’s varying experiences with the Jedi, she hadn’t even considered him. It was most likely her own fault, but she didn’t have a clue what to expect from someone she had met about four times, spoken (briefly) to only once, and one of those times watched him stab a man. 

He was Obi Wan’s best friend, but Satine knew the other man well enough to know that could be a good or bad thing. Anakin obviously cared deeply for him, Satine could hear it in his voice and see it in his eyes; that snide remark about how saving her apparently wasn’t worth the risk to Obi Wan more than a giveaway in its own right, as was the fact that Anakin had taken that risk himself despite his misgivings, simply for his friend’s sake.

He was just so _aggressive;_ she could read it in every line in his body, in the sharp curve of his smile and the glint in his eyes. That wasn’t to say that his apprentice hadn’t expressed any aggression when Satine had met her, and she certainly couldn’t say that about Obi Wan; as much as the Jedi preached peace, the lot of them had wills of iron, and woe to the individual who tried to test them.

No, in Anakin the aggression was different, she noticed it in the things Obi Wan said when he talked about him and near immediately in the edge in his voice as he had briefly argued against her before Obi Wan took over that first time on the _Coronet_. She had never gotten on well with the warrior types— if she had, she wouldn’t currently be deposed and locked up in her own prison —and from his actions towards her so far, she had the suspicion he didn’t like her all that much. Someone not liking her usually tended not to bother Satine; that was _their_ problem, but when she was to rely on someone for survival, she felt it was reasonable to prefer her protector actually had a vested interest in keeping her alive besides a favor to a friend.

Obi Wan trusted him though, trusted him with the life he was so keen on tossing around like a game of catch, and despite Obi Wan’s ulcer-inducing rate of nearly dying, she supposed she had Anakin to thank in large for keeping him around. She decided to hesitantly trust him, even despite the stream of snark and winking he had thrown at her since showing up at her cell— in actuality, he might not be as different from Obi Wan as she thought.

He was certainly following in Obi Wan’s tradition of testing her patience as he ducked back in from staring out the door to ask something about what she had said regarding ill-fitting armor.

“What?” she hissed, but he was already shushing her— _shushing her!_ —and leaning out again to address someone outside her view.

“Hey. Thanks for coming, I was having trouble with the prisoner.”

Satine winced at the heavily accented Mando’a. If the tight armor didn’t give him away as an outsider, his speech definitely would.

The other guard appeared to be thinking along the same lines as she was. “She probably couldn’t understand you, dumbass, what’s wrong with your voice?” Before Anakin could respond, the other guard was leaning over his shoulder and peering in at where Satine was standing behind him. She lifted her chin and glared defiantly through his visor, refusing to show weakness to a pawn like him. 

“Breaking the ‘no touch’ rule to go in and teach her a lesson, eh?” The guard’s words took a dark, slimy tone. “Hey, if you already did it, do you think anyone would mind if I went in and had a _word_ with her myself?”

Satine couldn’t help herself, even knowing it was a bad idea. “Oh yes, hit me when I’m locked up and weaponless. Your courage will win such honor for your clan.”

Instead of reacting negatively or violently at her, the guard just laughed. “Don’t worry sweetheart, I won’t hurt your pretty face any more than he did.”

“Huh?” Anakin said, but Satine recognized the guard’s lecherous tone for what it was and felt revulsion rush over her.

“Pig!” she spat, backpedalling to the other end of the cell. 

The guard laughed at her again and tried to slip by Anakin to enter, but it seemed Anakin finally got a clue to what was going on. “What do you— oh, _ew!_” Anakin’s arm shot out so quickly Satine barely had time to register it as the Jedi lifted the surprised man off the ground, legs kicking frantically.

“I was already planning to hit you,” Anakin was informing him almost cheerfully in Basic. “But you need to know that now I am hitting you specifically because you are a shitstain of a human being. Lights out.” The other arm not immobilizing the guard came around to whack at the back of his neck under the edge of his helmet, and the man crumpled like a stringless puppet.

Anakin caught the motionless body and plopped it at Satine’s feet. “Here.”

Satine swept the casual violence to the back of her mind. “What, is this where you toss the garbage?”

Anakin took his helmet off to scowl at her. “I didn’t kill him.” He then nudged the body further towards her with his foot. “Here,” he repeated.

Satine took a moment to see the rise and fall of the chest before sticking her own foot out and shoving the body right back at him. “How merciful. What do you want me to do with him? Shouldn’t we be going?”

Anakin rolled his eyes at her like she was an idiot for not seeing his nonexistent cues. “This is your disguise,” he told her, kicking the body back her way. “If I’m not wrong, you politicians are pretty good at doing quick-changes with your fancy outfits, so hurry up and put it on so we can go!”

Satine felt her jaw drop at the sheer audacity. “Absolutely not!”

His scowl deepened. “Relax, Your Grace, I’m not going to stare at you. I’ll stand watch outside and keep away anyone else who tries to look.”

“Chivalrous, but you do not understand,” Satine snapped. “I cannot wear this man’s armor. Let’s just leave him here.”

“Seriously? Is this just part of the pacifism thing?” Anakin demanded. “Because—“

“‘Pacifism thing’?!” _How dare he?_ “You wouldn’t know the first thing about pacifism if it bit you in the presumptuous ass! I cannot wear that armor because it is not _mine_. For a Mandalorian to steal another’s armor is an unofficial crime. It’s shameful.”

“First of all, pacifism wouldn’t bite me in the ass because biting isn’t peaceful,” Anakin retorted, and Satine resisted the decidedly non-peaceful urge to strangle him. Obi Wan had been arguing against her ideals for years, but she never thought he would stoop as low as to use psychological warfare against her by sending her flat-out provocation.

“Secondly,” Anakin continued, not seeming to notice Satine’s dark urges, “isn’t staging a coup against one’s ruler like, an _official_ crime? Pretty sure no one would blame you if you took anything from a guy who did that to you.”

“I am the Duchess,” Satine sighed. “I have already failed my people enough. I will not stoop to the level of terrorists.”

“If they overthrew you, then you’re technically not even the Duchess anymore,” Anakin said. “And if everyone already hated you enough to do that, you probably can’t do anything that can make them hate you more, right? C’mon, work with me here.”

Satine reminded herself sternly that pacifism aside, killing one’s rescuer was poor manners if anything else.

“Look, Your Grace,” Anakin held up his hands as if that was going to support any kind of point he was about to make, looking earnestly into her eyes. “I’m not Mandalorian, and I’m not going to be able to rescue you like one. You’re right that I don’t know anything about pacifism, so I’m not going to be able to rescue you that way either.

”But you didn’t specify when you asked for a rescue, and right now, I’m all you’ve got. I promised Obi Wan that I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, and the best way for you to help me keep that promise is if I don’t have to spend the entire time fighting you as well as the karking Death Watch.”

Satine squashed the part of her brain that protested that yes she did specify when she asked for a rescue, she specified _Obi Wan,_ and admitted to herself that he had a point.

Her power had been stolen from her in all but her title. All of her allies were dead or traitors. Bo’s attempt to save her had failed. Not even Obi Wan could make it to her this time— if he even wanted to, that annoying part of her brain thought darkly. She ignored it and focused on the one person who _had_ shown up despite everything. She had said herself that she didn’t want to waste his efforts.

_What’s the deal with taking the armor anyway? You’ve rejected all the rest of your family’s traditions. You always thought the obsession with the armor was irrational; why hesitate now?_

Satine met Anakin’s gaze and gave him a short nod. His expression slumped visibly in relief. “Thank you.”

“Turn away, Master Jedi,” Satine told him. 

“Right.” Anakin gave her a salute, putting his helmet back on and moving to stand outside the cell, blaster drawn. Just as Satine bent down to disconnect the chestplate, Anakin peeked back in. “Make sure to be quick.”

“I know,” Satine bit out, holding back the rest of the statement. _I’m a Mandalorian, I know how to put on armor._

Anakin gave her a thumbs up and turned around again. 

Satine wasted no time in stripping the man of his gear and clothing— she left his undershirt and underclothes out of respect he didn’t deserve —and as she removed her own tattered dress and slid into the skintight bodysuit, her mind swirled with unwanted memories of the last time she had done this. In an effort to chase them away, she called outside to Anakin. “Just for the record, there is no one else here with you?”

“Nope,” Anakin responded. “The Council needs Senate permission to do anything, and from what Obi Wan said, it didn’t seem like they thought they’d get it.”

Despite knowing exactly this, Satine felt the rage broiling inside her. The Republic Senate feared her planet and its abilities, feared her by extension, it always had. Its opinions of her had been made clear by its eagerness to accuse her of murder and conspiracy, and she knew she hadn’t made any friends amongst them when she had been forced to come to Coruscant and defend herself. The refusal to trade, the criminals at her borders. Her people had been suffering, and the Republic had sat by and refused to help, all because it wanted nothing less from Mandalore than complete assimilation and subservience.

Of course the Republic would take the chance to use her planet’s neutrality as a punishment, the troublesome Duchess dying because she had refused to open her world unconditionally to them. Of course they would. 

Cowards.

The joke was on them; as much as Satine despised Almec, she knew he did not share her convictions. If he was willing to cut corners enough to poison children, as Mandalore’s sole leader he wouldn’t hesitate to ally himself with the easiest group for him, and Satine just so happened to know that he had liked Count Dooku’s offer of allegiance much more than he had liked the Republic’s when both sides had approached them asking for their political hand. 

The Republic would finally have reason to fear Mandalore as it had needlessly feared her.

She had hoped, however, that the Jedi would be different. That it was as Obi Wan had promised her, that they hadn’t signed themselves and their autonomy over completely to the hands of those that would use them and spit them out. That they were just trying their best to help and keep the peace as best as they could.

She hated being right. She hated that apparently they had grown so dependent that they could no longer fulfill the one job their religion preached. They were hypocrites, all of them, and Obi Wan was mindlessly following along.

She knew what he had said to her the day Merrik died was true. She knew he would have left if she had asked when they were eighteen and nineteen. She knew he would have regretted it. She knew he would have hated her for making him give up his true calling in life. He was a comet blazing through the heavens, casting light on everything he touched.

Who was she to deny the rest of the world that light? How could she be so greedy, so impetuous, as to think she deserved it all for herself?

She was a Duchess, she couldn’t be selfish— or maybe she was just selfish enough to want him to love her, and if she didn’t say yes nor explicitly say _no_, he would leave with half of her heart with him and maybe, just maybe he would keep it.

They had kept in touch all of those years, but she still hadn’t asked. When he had revealed that it was all she needed to do, she still hadn’t asked. When he had commed her, sheepish and close-shaven, and revealed that actually he _hadn’t_ died, would she kindly forgive him, she still had not asked— despite spending a majority of the last month in her cups lamenting that she had not done so that first last time, when he had looked at her so hopefully with those eyes she had never been able to resist.

She had told herself she was not _asking_ asking when she sent the distress call. Obi Wan was her friend, he had said so himself, and his actions— as a friend —on her behalf had gotten her out of tight spots before; why not use that friendship now? It was simple politics.

Yet, when Anakin showed up with his jokes about expectations, Satine couldn’t help the sour taste in her mouth when he was the only one to step through the door. Why hadn’t _he_ come? Would she have not done the same for him? Had she not done the same for him before? Had she done something wrong?

The rational part of her, the Duchess, told her it made sense. The Council would not let him, and as she knew all too well how seriously he took his duty as a Jedi, of course he would listen. She should be grateful he had even considered it before Anakin talked him out of it. 

(Although it was hardly Anakin’s business in the first place, now was it? No, Satine, don’t bite the hand that feeds you).

The other part of her, the girl who had spent a year living in squalor at the side of the most beautiful, infuriating being in the galaxy, wondered if this was it, if she had finally asked too much. If he had decided that she was not worth the constant trouble that followed at her heels. If he thought that she was saying The Word— which she absolutely was Not —and he was deciding that no, he didn’t want that anymore…

None of it mattered. The reality was that Obi Wan was not here, and if— _when_ Satine made it out, she would be forced to stifle her pride and throw herself on the tender mercies of the Republic Senate who would have happily left her to die.

“Hey, you done?” Anakin called, startling her out of her thoughts.

“Yes, one moment,” she responded, picking up the helmet she had left on the floor and checking inside it. Something had just come to memory, and it should be right… _there._

“Did you check inside your helmet for the tracker they put between the visor slits?” she asked Anakin, plucking out the little device between her fingers and crushing it under the heel of the boot she had had to fasten way too tight to make up for how much larger it was then her own foot.

“No, but good thinking.” Anakin took off his own helmet to remove the tracker, once more making a futile attempt to flatten the mess of curls the helmet had created. “Is the spying a normal thing for you guys?”

“It helps prevent thievery as well as tracking lost comrades,” Satine responded, biting her tongue at the realization her words echoed the very ones her mother told her as she showed her eldest daughter a Mandalorian’s “second skin”. Not wanting to think of that at all, Satine opted to just stick the bucket over her head so she wouldn’t have to see her reflection through the visor anymore, but Anakin put a hand on her arm.

“Wait a second.” Satine watched uncomprehendingly as Anakin bent down to where she had left her once-fine dress piled on the floor next to the unconscious guard. She saw him take the edge of the skirt and rip off a strip with a flick of the wrist.

“That’s mine,” was all Satine could think to say.

Anakin offered her an apologetic shrug. “It was kind of ruined anyway.” He stood back up and held out the scrap of blue fabric to her. “Here.”

Satine looked at the seemingly innocent object warily. “I thought we had established that you just pushing things at me will not automatically translate in my brain to what you expect me to do with them.”

“It’s for your hair,” Anakin huffed. “You’ve seen what the dumb helmet does to mine, you can tie yours back and keep it out of the way.”

Satine blinked. “Oh. Thank you.” Her hair had fallen out of its updo into a kinked mess over a day ago and hadn’t been washed for half a week. She took the rag gratefully. 

Anakin gave another shrug and stood there, shuffling awkwardly, and Satine had to turn away from him so she could tie her hair into a loose ponytail and think things over.

She still didn’t know what to expect from Anakin Skywalker. He was rather violent, overbearing, a bit absentminded, and seemed not to possess even the hint of a verbal filter. He had also hit a man specifically for being rude to her, gave her her privacy, had consideration for her _hair_ of all things, and he had come for her. Despite everything, he had come for her when no one else had.

“Thank you,” she repeated, putting a hand on his shoulder and looking him in the eye to let him know she was serious. “Not just for the hair tie. Thank you for— for everything.”

Anakin stared at her as if she had suddenly sprouted a second head before smiling hesitantly, ducking away from her to fiddle with the crushed pieces of the tracker in his glove. “Don’t thank me yet. I’ve still got to get us out of here.”

Again with the strange softness… Satine put that to the side for the moment, putting the helmet on and adjusting her gear. 

_(Her mother’s lilting, scolding voice, strong hands tightening her vambraces: “I’ve told you before, little jaig, one’s_ beskar’gam _reflects how the world sees you. Sloppy shell, sloppy discipline. Set an example.”)_

Satine told the memory to shut up. While Anakin’s suit was too tight, the man she had stolen her own from was wider than her by a bit. She was fortunate she was tall as she was, or it might fit even worse. She felt a laugh catch in her throat. What a pair they made.

“Ready to go?” Anakin asked her, putting on his own helmet, and Satine had an idea. 

“Wait. Take the comm pad on your gauntlet and set your helmet frequency to D5-NA. That way we can speak to each other but no one else can hear us.”

“Good idea.” Anakin fiddled briefly with his wrist com before his voice crackled across the inside of Satine’s helmet. “You read me, Duchess?”

Satine set her own dial. “Loud and clear. Now let’s go.”

She moved to exit the cell, but Anakin held a hand up. “Hang on.”

Satine felt a prickle of exasperation. “We can’t keep loitering in here, we’ll get caught!”

“You just told us to stop for the comm thing!” Anakin argued, going back to pick up her old outfit once more, the boots as well. 

“Now what do you need those for?”

“I’m getting rid of the evidence! When they find you’ve escaped, we don’t want them suspecting their own soldiers right away.”

“Oh, and leaving the stripped down guard in here won’t clue them in?”

“I… was going to deal with that.”

“You were not.”

“Shh!”

“Do not shush me!”

Anakin shushed her again, adding an infuriating hand wave to it as he reached down and grabbed the guard’s leg. “Fine. We’ll hide him under the bench in the cell next door, they won’t find out right away.”

“Fine,” Satine said, letting the argument go in favor of moving over and opening the empty cell next door so Anakin could drag the body and roll it beneath the bench along with her clothes. He hesitated before coming out to join her, grabbing the guard’s blasters from his belt first.

As he made his way to her, Satine held up her hand to stop him. “I will say this right now. _No._ It isn’t negotiable.”

Anakin’s growl rumbled through her helmet. “I’m not going to make you use them, but seriously, Your Grace. What kind of self-respecting Death Watch terrorist doesn’t carry a blaster? It’ll look suspicious.”

Damn it, but he had a point again. Satine let loose a growl of her own. 

“I’ll even set them to stun for you—“ Anakin started, and his soothing tone as if he were trying to appease a spooked animal infuriated her.

“I can set a blaster to stun myself,” she snapped, snatching the wretched things from him and letting muscle memory take over as she thumbed the stun settings on and flipped them into her belt.

_(Her father’s voice in her head this time, answering her question why the blasters they used never had stun settings: “It’s cowardice, Sati, and an insult to an elegant weapon. Don’t bother pointing it at someone if you don’t truly wish to put them down.”)_

Satine focused on the present, wishing all the more that she had never agreed to the clothing swap. She’d rather take her chances dressed as the Duchess. If she died, it would be who she truly was.

A blur of red beside her drew her from her brooding and she turned to see Anakin knocking out yet _another_ guard a bit down the hallway.

“What in the gods’ name was that for?” she demanded, and Anakin did that shitty hand wave again as he dragged the newest body to the cell where the other guard was. 

“They would have seen your empty cell. I’m trying to buy us some time.”

Satine could feel the beginnings of a migraine making their way into her head, and she couldn’t even rub her temples without removing the blasted helmet. She needed a drink. “Just… just hurry, please. I wish to leave.”

“You and me both, Your Grace,” Anakin chirped as he locked the two bodies in the cell and started off down the hall. Satine followed him, sparing a last look at the two bodies crammed under a bench because of her. 

_Needless violence, all because of me._

Anakin’s voice sounded in her ear. “I don’t know why you’d care about them. You asked me if I was there to ‘do my master’s bidding’ before you knew who I was. These guys haven’t exactly been nice to you.”

Satine could hear the tightly-contained rage in his voice, and despite it being on her behalf, despite the one guard’s actions, she felt the need to defend her people. They were still her people. “I meant, if they were going to bring me back to their leader so he could sneer at me. I understand that one man was rather uncouth—“

“A dick,” Anakin put in, punching the button for the lift as they arrived at it.

“Yes, a dick,” Satine agreed. “However, they have all been deceived by those in power into thinking I am something I am not. They may not like me, but I assure you no one touched me, though I appreciate your concern. I ask that you not do more than the absolute necessary to get us out of here.”

The lift chimed, signaling it had arrived. Anakin gave a scoff. “I’m not willing to die for anyone’s pacifist beliefs, Your Grace. I’ll do what I see best.”

Satine opened her mouth to snap back at him, but the opening of the doors to reveal another soldier inside forced her to hold her tongue as they got in. She tried to be polite, and he disrespected her again. Why was this man so _confusing?_

The ride up the lift was silent for a while, but then it stopped and the other soldier got out, and then it was just Satine and Anakin. Image after image was whirling around in her head.

_All her guards killed in the line of duty. Young schoolchildren poisoned. Old allies turned angry and bitter and creating their own deaths working against her. Her citizens marching against her because she could not protect them. The entire bloody Civil War, started by her family, her legacy she couldn’t shake as much as she tried to enact change. Death after death after death after death…_

_It’s all your fault…_

Her voice trembled just the once as she said her next bit, and she hated herself for it. “It is not my wish for anyone to die for me, Master Jedi.” She needed to let him know. Needed to say it aloud. That this wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Anakin's helmet turned to cock sideways at her. “Of course it isn’t.”

Satine once more found herself confused. _What does he even mean then?_

“Sometimes people try and die for you anyway because they like you, even if they shouldn’t,” Anakin went on conversationally. “They’re idiots and it sucks and it can screw everything up. Obi Wan likes to do it a lot, case in point you. That’s why I had to stop him. That’s why you don’t have to worry about it quite as much from me.”

Satine couldn’t help it. “What, because you don’t like me?” Frankly, she was surprised Anakin had even acknowledged that Obi Wan felt… _something_ for her— though that may just be her imprisoned mind deluding itself —what with how possessively he had spoken about his friend himself.

Anakin’s shoulders jerked. “I don’t have a problem with you, Your Grace. I just won’t purposely die for you because I’m already doing this for O— for other reasons.”

There it was again, Satine noticed as he did that nervous shuffle again after his obvious slip. What he was saying made no sense, but she thought she could feel the gist of that intense feeling towards a certain someone. Not that she could blame him. Obi Wan was just like that. The way Anakin acted wasn’t like anything she had seen between Obi Wan and Qui Gon, though, this smelt of something else she knew all too well.

She felt a brief flash of solidarity for his troubles. By the gods did she know the pain any little crush of _that_ nature led to.

The lift chimed at their stop and Anakin was talking again, and she had been rude enough to ignore him. “Forgive me, but could you repeat that?”

Anakin gave a heaving sigh she felt was a tad overdramatic for the situation. “I was _asking_ you if you can drive a speederbike?”

“Of course I can,” Satine said a bit offendedly as they walked past more guards right for the main entrance. Her nerves tingled as she forced her steps to reman casual, expecting someone any minute to whirl on her with a blaster drawn. 

No one did.

Fine. These disguises might not have been such a bad idea.

She wasn’t going to tell Anakin that.

“Good.” Anakin waved her over to one of the speederbikes hovering at the entrance to the prison, snapping off a lazy salute to a guard as he went by, posture as if he were on a leisurely stroll through the park without a care in the world. “We need to find a hangar or platform where the government ships are kept. You know where that is, right?”

“I did rule this planet,” Satine retorted as she hopped on to the speederbike. Wait a moment. “_Do._ I _do_ rule this planet.”

_Fuck._

Not noticing her internal crisis, Anakin went on, sitting down behind her. “Cool. You drive us there and we can steal one to escape.”

Satine hesitated. “You’re letting me drive?”

Anakin placed one hand lightly at her waist, squeezing once to urge her to get moving. “I don’t exactly know where anything is here, Your Grace. You’re lucky I found you.”

Whether it be nerves or incredulity, Satine felt the bark of a laugh escape her as she started up the bike and steered them out. “That’s not reassuring in the least, Master Jedi.”

Anakin did not seem quite as bothered about this as she felt he should. “Don’t worry about it, I’m good at finding things. We need someone to drive, someone to shoot anyway, and we know you won’t be the one shooting— can you go any faster?”

Satine grit her teeth and acquiesced, increasing their speed as she weaved through her city in search of the relatively secret depot she knew held the ships. “I’m glad you have things all figured out then.”

He patted her side condescendingly. “Of course I do, Duchess.” She wondered how in the hells he was staying on the bike when he was barely holding on to her.

“Why do we even need to steal a ship? How did you get here?”

“I blew up the ship I came in as a distraction.”

“Of course you did.”

“It worked.”

“I’m sure.”

Anakin ignored her. “I can get us a new ship easily, that’s why we have the disguises. No one will ask twice about us taking one.”

As he spoke, a piercing klaxon split the air, and Satine nearly rolled their bike in alarm. Anakin lunged over her back to steady the handlebars. “Watch it!”

“They might ask twice now!” Satine hissed. “That’s the level five lockdown siren. They know!”

“Relax,” Anakin told her. Surprisingly, Satine didn’t quite feel like relaxing at the moment. “I’m telling you this will work. Just keep driving— how close are we?”

“Almost there.”

“Good. I told you, I’m getting us through this even if Vizsla himself comes out to stop us.”

Satine felt a stone drop in her stomach. “Vizsla?” _He doesn’t know?_

Anakin gave a derisive snort. “I’m not afraid of him. Does he still actually think he’s as good a saber duelist as a Jedi? Because last I heard, both Obi Wan and Ahsoka were able to hand him his ass no problem, and Ahsoka’s still learning—“

“Pre Vizsla is dead,” Satine told him.

“—and I know I’m just as good as— wait, what?” Anakin trailed off. “He’s _dead?_”

Satine focused very intently on her driving. “Yes. He is. You didn’t know that either? How did you even plan this with such little information?”

“I didn’t! Obi Wan told me basically nothing besides you being locked up here; this escape is completely on the fly.”

Gods. Satine was going to die.

“I cannot believe you.”

“Hey, in my defense, Obi Wan was going to run off after you the second he got your message; it’s not like he had a plan either,” Anakin protested.

She felt that harsh laughter coming back. “Of course he didn’t. How do you ever manage to survive the stunts you both pull when neither of you seem to possess a single functioning braincell between the two of you?” 

_”Hey,”_ Anakin started to snap, but Satine brought their bike to a sudden halt at what she saw in front of her.

“It’s completely blockaded.”

The supposedly “covert” entrance to the outside landing strip that launched their best ships was currently barricaded in full locked blast doors, hoverspeeders full of troops stationed beside the doors, and more soldiers floating in the air.

Satine could feel Anakin’s fingers flexing against her side. “Now what?” she asked him, feeling suddenly tired at yet another escape attempt hindered.

To his credit, Anakin only paused for a moment. “Head back for the main entrance into the city.”

Satine did a double take. “Are you _crazy?_ The main entrance is the most obvious way to leave!”

“And the last place anyone would expect someone trying to sneak out through,” Anakin countered. “Trust me.”

“I don’t think I do,” Satine retorted, but she turned the bike around anyway. It was quiet as they made their way back through the city, she could spot searchlights flashing and armed soldiers swooping all over the place, all while the sirens still wailed. Still, no one was coming down on their heads just yet, so she forced her pounding heart to behave.

Anakin broke their silence. “So fill me in. What happened to Vizsla?”

Satine suppressed another burst of hysterical laughter. “As far as the public knows, _I_ killed him.”

Anakin chuckled, not unkindly. “Because you seem like such the type.”

“Unfortunately,” Satine said, surprised at how even her own voice sounded. “In actuality, after he forced me out, it appears there was a fracturing within the Death Watch. He brought in a pair of outsiders to help him control the crime families through the takeover, and it seems they disagreed with him. All I know is that they fought and killed him, then took his place. Pre framed himself as a hero to our people,” here Satine could almost taste the bitterness in her voice. “So his death was blamed on the one everyone already hated for abandoning them.”

“You.”

“Me.”

“Ouch.”

“Ouch indeed.” Satine could feel the burning pressure behind her eyes and blinked it away. So what if despite everything she had worked for, despite the entire identity she had created, people still believed she would cut an opponent down at the slightest opportunity like she was her parents—

“Can you tell me anything else about the new leaders?” Anakin asked her, and as her mind scrambled to avoid dwelling on her personal failings, something else appeared, something off she had noticed, something she had been meaning to tell Obi Wan but had gotten lost in the chaos of everything that had happened.

The way the one man’s eyes had glittered that eerie flame-streaked gold; how it had suddenly made her feel chilled, feel _wrong_. 

“They’re outsiders, as I said before, I only met them once. There is something terribly off about them, I could feel it at a glance. They’re incredibly strong, even for their race, and their eyes… they glowed like the tales of the Sith Lords of old.”

The speederbike rocked precariously as Anakin nearly fell off it in surprise. “Why the kark would there be Sith here? Why would you even say—?”

Despite knowing it was absolutely her fault for not mentioning it before, Satine felt herself bristling defensively. “I wasn’t sure! There aren’t supposed to be any more of them besides the Count, and anyone could have stolen a lightsaber—“

Anakin gave a cutting laugh. “Oh, wonderful, glowing eyes and lightsabers! What did they look like? I probably know them.”

“That depends, how many tall, tattooed Zabraks do you know?” Satine spat, more than a bit flippantly, but his mocking was grating on her already frayed patience She regretted it the moment he went dead still behind her.

“One was red, one was yellow?” In the short period of time she had known him, he had never sounded as serious as he did now. “A bunch of metal body parts, answered to Maul and Savage?”

Satine shivered as she remembered the golden gaze on her again, the glint of metal off the taller one’s arm, rumbles of names that sounded about right. “You’ve met?”

“Not exactly.” Anakin’s snarl was nearly as frightening, the hand that rested gently against her waist vibrating with tension. “Obi Wan, you Force-damned idiot. _Fuck._”

Satine was growing more and more alarmed. “Friends of his?”

The fingers at her side clenched. “Maul, the red one, has been making Obi Wan’s life hell ever since the bastard murdered Master Qui Gon all those years ago.”

Satine’s breath caught in her throat. _Murdered Qui Gon? But no…_ “That can’t be,” she protested. “I went to his memorial. Obi Wan said he killed—“

“We all thought Obi Wan killed him,” Anakin said. “Then he somehow popped back up over a year ago with a new pair of legs, his brother Savage, and a death grudge. Maul is batshit crazy, and he’ll do anything to get at Obi Wan— apparently including using his girlfriend as bait.”

“I am _not_ his—“ Satine choked on her own words, reflexive denial getting smothered by the wash of ice running through her veins. “Bait?”

Anakin’s words were just as frigid. “Sorry, Your Grace. It looks like you’re just the trap, and Obi Wan was going to fall _right into it._ Shavit, I should have known.”

“No.” This wasn’t. This couldn’t be. She had never met this man. Obi Wan would never have told a soul about her. This was no trap, just a coincidence…

_Pre knew…_

Pre knew, had seen them together. It wasn’t a stretch for him to have discovered a mutual enemy in Maul—

_(Bo’s words: “The enemy of my enemy is my friend”.)_

—Hells, she had blurted it right out that she loved him while Merrik was watching; who else knew how poor a job she had done hiding her ridiculous affections? It might as well have been the entire galaxy.

_Now you’ve done it, stupid woman. You’ve put everyone in danger. You knew it was selfish of you to ever try and have this…_

Obi Wan would have walked straight into the arms of a madman because she had been foolish enough to call him. The same madman who now ruled her people, the people she had failed to protect. Why did this keep happening? Why was she constantly so _blind?_

A nudge to her side. “Hey, you’re steering off course. We’re coming up on the entrance.” 

In the wake of realizing what she had truly caused, the last thing Satine could focus on was steering the bike, but she made an effort to check her course ahead and sent them jerking to a halt with a gasp. “See, it won’t work. I told you it would be guarded.”

The only response Anakin gave as he peered over her shoulder at the massive military blockade at the main entrance was a pensive hum.

“We should turn around and hide somewhere,” Satine decided. “I know this city. My sister is here, she can—“

Feeling herself suddenly flattened by an armored chest to the seat of the bike, Satine heard the telltale whine of a blaster bolt soaring over their heads. Shouting echoed behind them and Anakin’s body over hers tensed. “Too late.”

Satine craned her neck around to see a squadron of soldiers in red tearing their way towards them. They wouldn’t be able to just duck out and hide now; it seemed their ruse had been discovered.

Anakin swore in a language she didn’t know before shifting upright, taking her hands and placing them on the handlebars, his over hers. “I’m going to try something. Hopefully, it’s going to get us out of here. Is this armor fireproof?”

“Yes,” Satine answered instinctively, before correcting herself. “Mostly. It’s not good quality, it’s only duraplast—“

“Good enough for me,” Anakin declared, leaning them out of the way of another shot and squeezing the accelerator, sending them shooting off towards the guarded entrance. 

Satine struggled frantically. “What are you _doing?_”

“Trust me!”

“I do not!”

Satine was still splayed in an extremely awkward position, arms trapped to the handlebars with Anakin pressed to her back. There was blasterfire coming at them from all sides now, the barricade guards obviously noticing the single bike barreling its way towards them full speed with seemingly no intentions of slowing down. Anakin was managing to bob and weave their bike out of the way of the bolts without loosing a fraction of their speed. The blocked entrance was getting closer and closer, and they _still_ weren’t slowing at all.

Satine yanked once more uselessly at her trapped arms. “_Shabuir!_” she screeched. “Your plan is to crash and kill us?!”

“Just trust me!” Anakin hollered back.

Satine was going to _die_.

She could feel a frustrated scream building up in her throat and releasing as they sped towards collision at terminal velocity. However she may die, and it could very well be soon, she refused to be a splatter against a wall like a damned bug.

She could see the reflection of her and Anakin in the visors of the guards now, as a group of them started to scatter out of the way upon realization that the bike was not planning on stopping.

Anakin’s voice in her ear again: “Count down from five for me, okay?”

Unable to do literally anything else, Satine had little option but to comply.

This was crazy.

_Rayshe’a._

Would he let her die?

_Cuir._

He kept Obi Wan alive.

_Ehn._

Obi Wan trusted him.

_T’ad._

She would trust Anakin now.

_Sol._

Satine closed her eyes.

The second she did, Anakin’s strong arms hooked around her waist and tugged, sending them both tumbling off the side of the bike. Satine clutched frantically at the arms around her, looking up as the barrier lit up with the explosion of the bike barreling right into a large hoverspeeder. She barely had time to register that she was watching this floating from below because Anakin had a jetpack, how did she forget, but then the arms around her waist tightened almost viselike and they were rocketing upwards directly towards the billowing cloud of flame.

Satine didn’t scare easily, but in a situation where one was suddenly enveloped in a whoosh of fire, all she could do was shriek and throw her hands up over her face. The heat licked at her body, buffeting them like a particularly fierce wind, but then she could see something through her visor that wasn’t orange as they burst through the maelstrom and down the tunnel into the blinding glare of daylight unscathed. Mostly. Tendrils of smoke trailed off their armor as they flew.

Anakin let out a wild whoop of laughter, and Satine beat her _smoking_ palms against his forearms. “You are completely insane!”

“I am alive! So are you!”

“Insane!”

Anakin veered them sharply to the right, soaring up the side of the dome. Satine could feel him adjusting her weight in his arms, and then suddenly she was airborne as he tossed her in the air and caught her before she could make a sound so she was held bridal-style rather than the awkward grip around her waist from before.

Satine wasted no time in fumbling her hands around his neck, partially for security, partially as backup as she told him solemnly, “Your plan may have worked, but manhandle me like any of what you just did without warning me again, I make sure we both crash. Understood?” It was rather hard to sound threatening when one’s hands were shaking.

He snorted at her again. “You’re welcome for saving both of our asses, Your Grace. Is anyone following us?”

She sighed. “Please, just call me Satine.” He had an uncanny way of making “Your Grace” sound more like a type of bad rash than any sort of proper title.

“Alright, Satine. Are we being followed?”

Admittedly, from this position Satine could easily look over his shoulder and watch his back. “Not currently, but it’s only a matter of time.”

“Optimistic,” Anakin muttered, steering them around the side of the dome. “The ship launchpad was this way, right? They won’t be expecting us to come in from the outside, we can still escape that way.”

“You also said they wouldn’t be expecting us out the main entrance,” Satine pointed out.

“Well, we can’t jetpack back to Coruscant,” Anakin told her. “We need a way off the planet, and this is our best shot.”

Satine exhaled sharply. “As I was trying to tell you before, I have a sister here who can help us with that.”

“Sister? Where the hells has she been in all of this?”

_Funny story…_ “You’ve likely heard of her. Her name is Bo Katan.”

Anakin fumbled her in his arms and for a moment she feared he’d drop her. “Please tell me that’s a common name. Please tell me your sister is not the Death Watch commander who tried to murder my Padawan.”

Satine braced herself for a fight. “If it helps, she’s been trying to murder me for years, and we’re sisters.”

“That does not help! Why would she—?”

“Families can be complicated!” Satine snapped, in no mood whatsoever to educate him on the long, tangled clusterfuck that was the Kryze-Vizsla situation. “Pre Vizsla was my cousin! _Our_ cousin, and Bo realized her mistake after he died. She tried to break me out before, she can assist us now!”

“Sorry, not trusting her,” Anakin replied dismissively. 

Satine was not going to let him just brush the subject off like this, but before she could back up her argument, movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. “They’ve found us.”

“Huh— slag it!” Anakin hadn’t taken more than a second to look over his shoulder when a blaster bolt whizzed past his head. There was a squad of what had to be at least seven soldiers flying up behind them.

“How much further until we get to the ships?” Anakin asked, angling his own jetpack out of the way of the shots with an almost practiced dexterity that surprised Satine; Jedi had never been known to use them.

Satine craned her neck to examine the unchanging curved wall of the dome they were flying along. It was quite a bit easier to tell where you were going on the inside and not just staring at the same blank shell. “We have some way to go, I believe.”

Anakin grunted, jerking back from another bolt. “I can’t outmaneuver all of them while holding you.”

“If you make it there without dropping me, you will have succeeded where Obi Wan failed,” Satine told him, not at all wishing to be dropped and willing to play dirty.

“I won’t drop you, nor will I tell him you said that,” Anakin assured her with the hint of a laugh. “But it’s like I said, we need someone to drive and someone to shoot, and right now my hands are full; I can’t shoot. What’s your mark score?”

“331,” Satine responded instinctively. Even after all this time, the number was ingrained into her memory. What she could do. Then she realized. “No.”

“Whoa.” Anakin’s helmet drew back and if anything, she would say he sounded impressed. She refused to be flattered by it. “You’re a deadshot?”

“Irrelevant,” Satine informed him, clutching his shoulder slightly tighter as a blast passed way too close to her head for comfort. “I cannot shoot them for you, not even on stun. From this height the fall would kill them.”

“I’m not asking you to shoot them, I’m asking you to miss.”

“Pardon?”

“Cover fire. If they’re dodging shots, they aren’t shooting at us as much. Take it off stun and give them some close calls, for a deadshot like you it shouldn’t even be that much of a problem to miss them.”

Satine shook her head. “No. The risk is too great. I won’t accidentally hit someone.”

Anakin let out a hiss as a blaster bolt pinged off his shoulder pauldron. “They are purposely hitting us!”

Another shot flew over her head and Satine bit her lip so hard she could almost draw blood. In a matter of hours she had been pressured into stealing and wearing armor, which she had sworn never again, she had broken out and was fighting against her own people, and was now expected to shoot a gun. She needed a bloody _drink_.

A shot passed way too close to the explosive jetpack, and Anakin’s grip under her knees tightened. “Satine.”

Wonderful, now he made her name sound like a bad rash.

“Shut up and fly,” she informed him, reaching into her belt and drawing one of the two pistols. She half-expected it to burn her hand. Leaning around from behind Anakin and balancing the gun over his shoulder, she flipped the stunner off, set her hands to the proper grip, took very specific aim, and fired, nearly fumbling the gun in the kickback.

She held her breath.

The soldier in the lead broke off from aiming at them as her shot went closely, but harmlessly, past their neck.

Satine allowed herself to release the breath ever so slowly.

She took aim again.

She was rather alarmed to say how easy it was falling back into things: point, fire, point, fire. Her mother’s voice in her ear, correcting her grip, scolding that she would not hit anyone. Satine let everything else become white noise in favor of mechanically sending a scatter of shots through the formation following them. It was difficult to keep it clean, as Anakin was dodging and turning and generally flying like a madman beneath her, but she took satisfaction that she was successfully causing the enemy fighters to bob and weave themselves.

Nobody was hit.

Nobody fell.

_You can do better than that, Sati._ On a whim, she focused directly on one fighter’s blaster held awkwardly in their hands. That was their own fault. When she blasted the tip right off the gun, they dropped the rest in surprise. Satine felt a little glow of pride.

That was good.

No it wasn’t.

No more pride; Satine rather felt like being sick.

She went back to only targeting air.

“Nice job,” Anakin was telling her.

“Be _quiet_,” she told him, sending another attempt at a formation scattering.

“You sure? Because I was about to say that we’re reaching something that looks like a landing platform.”

She took an eye off her work to see where he was talking about and felt a tremor of relief. “Yes. Yes that’s it.”

Anakin had finally been right. There were barely any guards positioned on the outside entrance.

“Good. I’m going to drop us there and you’re going to find and start up a ship while I keep them distracted,” Anakin told her.

“You’ve asked me to do an awful lot of flying this trip,” Satine commented.

His helmet turned to stare at her. “Can you fly it?”

She scoffed. “Of course. But most people don’t expect a royal to be able to. I”m simply curious.”

He raised a shoulder. “I’m not ‘most people’. Brace yourself, we’re landing.”

She was lucky she did, because he decided it would be a grand idea to let her go while they were still hovering a couple feet off the ground. She still staggered slightly as her feet hit the ground, and she turned up to send him a death glare that he of course didn’t see because of the bloody helmets.

Anakin was already turning away from her to face the incoming fighters. “Go find that ship.”

Satine may have smarted over his daring to give her a direct order, but did as he said, tearing off among the landed ships looking for an open one. Behind her, her blood ran cold as she heard the unmistakable _snap-hiss-hum_ of a lightsaber blade being ignited.

_D’ikut._ Where in the stars’ name had he been hiding that? And what was the point in him being in disguise to steal a ship if he was just going to alert everyone in the immediate radius that he was a Jedi anyway?

Growling to herself, Satine brushed by another guard running towards the fight— luckily, no one had seemed to notice her yet, because she, like a sensible person, had not pulled out a karking lightsaber. She refused to turn around, but from the continued cracks of ozone and the yelling and thuds of bodies that she could hear, she could infer he at least wasn’t dead yet. 

There.

An open ship, lightweight class and easily maneuverable. Or so she thought. Yes, she could fly a ship, but she knew next to nothing about them.

“I found one. I don’t know ships, so kindly don’t be picky,” she said through the helmet as she boarded.

“Start it up,” was Anakin’s response, which she was presently doing, thank you very much. She flipped another switch and chanced a look out the viewport.

Well, he certainly had Obi Wan’s talent, given how he was skillfully fending off multiple assailants without appearing in the least bit inconvenienced by it. The flashing cyan of his saber lit up lavender against the red plating everyone wore, illuminating more figures crumpled at his feet. As she noticed this, a flick of Anakin's blade sent another blaster bolt whizzing back to connect with another soldier. They went down and didn’t get back up.

Satine took a deep breath and banished the carnage in front of her from her mind. “Anakin,” she said into their radio. “The ship is ready. Let’s get out of here.”

“Leave without me.”

_”What?”_

“There’s too many of them now for me to get to the ship! Fly out of here and I’ll keep ‘em busy!”

Satine felt the waver of hysteria in her voice. “What happened to not wanting to die for me?”

A breathy snort rippled through the line, and Satine was amazed at how he still didn’t seem to even sound fatigued despite her being able to watch him extend a palm and send a pair of soldiers flying. He was unfortunately right that now there were way too many soldiers on the platform. “I’m not dying for you, Duchess. Once you’re in the clear, I’ll get a ship myself and get out. I’m the best pilot in the galaxy, it won’t be a problem.”

“There won’t be a problem because there is no way I am leaving without you!’ Satine snapped. What was he even _thinking?_ Did the Jedi indoctrinate all their members to become self-sacrificial morons?

“Damn it, can you just listen to me for once?”

“I am listening. I’m just not _doing._”

Satine watched him parry another blast with a particularly vindictive swipe. “I promised to protect you,” he said angrily. “Don’t make me fail. This is the only way.”

“And me showing up alone saying how I left you to die isn’t just as large a failure?” Satine spat. “Do not play that game with me.”

“It’s not your job to protect _me!_”

“It is now! We are in this together, whether you like it or not. You may convince me to wear _beskar’gam_ and carry a blaster, but I will not be swayed in this.”

No one else was martyring themselves for her. Especially not this one.

He was not hers to lose.

With that thought in mind, she guided the steering yoke forwards and nudged the ship into the air.

Anakin gave a satisfied sigh. “Thank you. I’ll try and meet you—“

“I’m still not leaving,” Satine interrupted. “I will wait a distance from the edge of the platform with the ramp down, and you can back yourself up and do one of your ridiculous little Jedi jumps to board. Then, we will both leave”

“Satine!” She rather enjoyed the exasperated note in his voice as he started backing his way towards the edge; it sounded much like Obi Wan’s. As she guided the ship until it was hovering a good length away from the edge of the platform, the ship console crackled to life. 

“Are you crazy?” a voice in Mando’a barked. “You could blow up the whole platform with that. Stand down, soldier.”

She made a half-assed attempt to disguise her voice as she responded. “I’m just making sure he can’t take off again,” before muting the comm.

“Do hurry,” she told Anakin. “I’m starting to catch attention.”

“Then leave,” he grunted, having allowed his opponents to back him nearly to the edge of the platform. Satine rolled her eyes, ready to quip back at him again when Anakin’s figure suddenly stiffened. She gasped as a lucky shot clipped his leg and he staggered. 

“Careful!”

“Satine, you need to leave _now_.”

“I thought we just went over this—“

“No, you have to— he’s here!”

“Who is?”

In response, the blazing fireball of a rocket soared out of the hangar directly at her ship. Anakin’s yell sounded in her ears, but she had no time to move out of the way before it connected, flinging her from her seat and sending the ship into a rumbling spin.

For once, Satine was glad for the armor as her helmeted head and shoulder bounced roughly off the floor, head spinning and ears ringing from the explosion. All helmets filtered out smoke, but she could still see it gathering around the cabin as she sat up. Dimly, she was aware that floating thousands of feet in the air meant that a hit like that should have by all accounts sent the ship spiraling down to its doom, not had it in a trembling hover— especially since she was on the floor and not even steering.

Feeling her own hand shake, she touched it to your helmet. “Anakin? Are you there?”

“Satine, thank Force.” Finally, his voice sounded strained. “Can you move?”

Her limbs were sore from being tossed about, but it was nothing terrible. “Yes, I can.”

The ship gave another violent tremble. “Can you make it to the boarding ramp? You said it was open.”

“I… I can do that,” Satine agreed, robotically getting to her feet and staggering out of the shaking cockpit. The ship was not large, so the boarding ramp was directly to her left— with an ever-growing wall of flame to her right.

Perfect. The ship was on fire.

Satine was rather done with fire for one day. Or a lifetime.

Upon reaching the top of the ramp, she froze at what she saw. 

Anakin was completely surrounded by soldiers at the edge of the platform. They all had their weapons trained on him, but no one was firing. Everyone just seemed content to watch as he stood facing her, ignited saber still in one hand, other extended out towards her in a clawed grasp. She could see a spasm run through his wrist and jolted as the ship spasmed in response.

_He’s holding the entire ship up. How…_

Anakin gave her a shaky laugh. “Sorry about the mess, Your Grace, but I’m going to need you to jump off that ramp once I pull the ship in a bit nearer. Do you trust me?”

Satine was nodding without even thinking, because at this pinpoint of a moment, she discovered that yes, she did trust this wayward, hurricane of a man. Somehow.

She leaned backwards, ready to take a running leap, and then she saw them. Melting out of the shadows with predators’ eyes gleaming. One of them was staring directly at her. They were coming closer and closer to where Anakin stood, and she could see the white flash of bared teeth in the darkness.

She felt her tongue trip over the words. “Behind you…”

“I know.” Anakin’s tone had as much of a tremor as his hand. “I can sense them. Ignore them and jump.”

She was going to get caught again. This time she would be taking someone else with her. She should tell him to let the ship fall with her in it.

“I can’t hold the ship for much longer, Satine. You’ve got to jump now.”

The shadows stalked closer.

“Jump.”

Satine jumped to safety, to both of their doom.

The minute her feet left the ramp, she could feel the sucking whoosh of displaced air pulling at her from behind as Anakin let the ship drop down. For a heartbeat, she feared she might plummet with it after all, but then there was an invisible string catching her, reeling her through the air and touching her back down on the platform. 

She only realized she had been reaching for him when her outstretched fingers brushed against his own.

“I told you to run,” he said, and did he mean to make that sound teasing instead of angry?

She never got to ask him, as the zing of a shot rang out and strong hands were gripping her once again and she was being pivoted around; granting her the perfect view of Anakin taking a stun blast to the back, iron grip weakening to nothing as his tall form crumpled to the ground at her feet.

_No._

The other soldiers shifted, cocking their weapons, and Satine felt the flash of hot panic run through her. She stepped protectively over Anakin’s prone figure, yanking her helmet off and raising her hands in the air. “Don’t! Please, I surrender! You can have me!”

_No more martyrs. Not unless it’s me._

“I already had you.” The soft snarl sent a chill rushing through her and she turned to see the red soldiers part, allowing the man, Maul, to step towards her, his hulking brother at his back.

Satine would not let him frighten her. She wouldn’t. So what if his previous expressions had rested on the side of unnerving; disdainful and condescending to her. So what if that yellow gaze now held her with a look of pure murder, as if she should be turning to ash just by looking at it.

He clanked to a halt in front of her— she hadn’t even registered the metal legs the last time. It would make sense; she knew Obi Wan had cut the man who had killed Qui Gon in half.

Oh gods. Qui Gon.

Her stalwart, clever protector with the easy laugh. A guiding older figure she had told herself she hadn’t needed anymore, but had somehow managed to fill a space in that void by the end of their adventures, maybe fitting better than her own father ever had. Her friend, who had saved her life.

This monster had killed him.

Killed him, tormented Obi Wan, stole Satine's entire planet.

His hot breath blew across her face as he loomed over her. “Step aside, you fool.” His voice, still quiet, promised violence. Promised death

Satine hated him.

She drew herself up to full height, staring him in the sickly eyes. “You will address me as Duchess.”

If she could get the stunner out of her belt—

There was a black blur and the entire right side of her face lit up with white-hot pain. Satine’s body was made to follow her head’s sudden snap to the left with the force of his backhand, and as she staggered, she felt a harsh shove further in that direction.

More rough hands grabbed hers, twisting and pinning them painfully behind her back even as she kicked and cried out. When she tried to wriggle away, the metal clench over one of her wrists tightened enough she almost blacked out at the hurt of it. As her vision cleared, Satine was able to look back and see the taller brother sneering at her. When she met his gaze, his eyes narrowed and he wrenched her arm back further

A trickle of blood was starting to run down her cheek from where something in his glove broke the skin and she could feel her lip swelling, but all Satine could focus on was Maul leaning down and pulling Anakin’s helmet off his head.

He stared blankly at the unconscious man for a moment. Then another.

Then, with a roar of rage, he was whirling around and dashing the helmet on the deck, shattering it into little pieces. “No! He was supposed to be here!”

A cleared throat from Savage behind Satine. “He could still be, brother. He could be hiding, if this was a distraction—“

“It was not,” Maul snapped. “I would have known. I would have felt it. No, no he is not here.” He stalked around Satine as he spoke, running fingers over what Satine recognized as the Darksaber clutched tight in his palm. 

Anakin’s voice echoed in her mind, saying how Maul was “batshit crazy”. She hadn’t quite seen it when meeting him before; he had managed to outmaneuver her into revealing Almec’s existence, after all, but seeing the unnatural glint in his eyes and the way he muttered darkly to himself, Satine could start to believe it.

“He mocks me,” Maul said, staring furiously at Anakin again. “I give him all but an _invitation_,” here he jabbed a hand in Satine’s direction and she tried not to give him the satisfaction of flinching, “and instead of coming to face me, he sits back and sends me _this._” Maul punctuated the final word with a brutal kick to Anakin’s side.

“Stop!” Satine gasped out, unable to see him attack an unconscious man. She did achieve her goal, as Maul wheeled around to focus his glare on her instead and Satine choked as she felt pressure start to build around her windpipe.

“If I were you, Lady Kryze,” Maul’s words were little more than a whisper. “I would consider holding my tongue. Unfortunately, the late Pre Vizsla proved overconfident about many things.” The molten eyes were boring into her, and she still couldn’t breathe. “Let us hope, for your sake, that his estimation of your worth was not one of them.”

_This isn’t about you. You’re just the bait…_

Suddenly, the pressure was released on Satine’s throat and she slumped in Savage’s hold, sucking in gulps of air. She caught her breath in time to see Maul stepping back to consider Anakin again, tapping the hilt of the Darksaber against the side of his jaw.

“Now, what to do with our unexpected guest, Savage? We can’t just lock him away.”

“A missing Jedi would attract Republic attention, Master,” Savage rumbled. 

“Indeed it would,” Maul mused. “I suppose that means cutting his head off and sending it back to the Jedi in a box would be poor judgement?” He didn’t wait for Savage to answer him. “Pity. That might catch Kenobi’s attention, seeing that a planetary coup was apparently too subtle for him.”

Maul stuck his foot under Anakin’s chin and lifted it, the rage in his eyes glowing even brighter. ”However... it would certainly make me feel better.”

The warble of the Darksaber bursting to life sent a streak of horror through Satine like an electric shock. She didn’t even think as the scream burst from her throat.

”No, he’s his friend! _He’s his friend!_”

Maul stopped the sliver of darkness less than a millimeter from Anakin’s throat.

He had said he didn’t want to die for her.

Satine kept babbling. “He’s his friend. You can’t kill him, you want him alive. Please.” 

She must seem a mess; hair coming loose from its tie to stick to her bloody cheek, lunging at Savage’s grasp like a rabid animal. She didn’t care. If Maul had gone and killed that man in front of her…

Maul’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t realize I was taking suggestions, Lady Kryze.”

Satine swallowed. “You need him,” she insisted, wrangling her damned shaky voice into submission. “I know who you seek, Sith, and he won’t come for me.” She could feel the pressure of tears again, and she hated herself for it, hated being a crier, hated that Maul was there to witness her weakness. “If he was going to come, he would have already. My… _friendship_ is not worth that risk.”

She hoped she was lying. 

Please, let her be lying.

“He,” Satine nodded towards Anakin. “Is his partner. His apprentice. I’m guessing you’ve seen them on the news. They’ve fought side by side for years, they’d do anything for each other. If Anakin Skywalker cannot bring him to you, no one can.”

The logical part of Satine’s brain asked her why in the hells she was doing this. Maul had no need for two hostages, especially not one who had failed to achieve him his desired goal. Satine could very well be talking herself out of breathing.

She didn’t regret it, though. She couldn’t.

It was plain to see how Anakin cared for Obi Wan. Unless one knew him well— and for if only a moment in their long, complicated history, Satine would dare say she did —it was harder to see just how much that feeling was mutual.

It was indeed mutual. Throughout all the letters he had sent her, Anakin had appeared in almost all of them. The way he discussed young Ahsoka was almost how one would describe coparenting a child, the way Ahsoka herself responded to questions about her Masters— plural. The crinkle in his eyes whenever he looked at him during their time on her ship, and yes, she had noticed. Her Obi may not ever actually do anything about it; hells, she doubted he even noticed it, but she knew it was there.

She was already on a track to get herself killed; she would not drag Obi Wan down with her, and she couldn’t do it to Anakin either.

She would give Anakin that chance to live and possibly run, at the risk of admitting she might be growing the tiniest bit fond of him herself. She didn’t know why. She had hit her head quite a bit recently.

Maul stared at her pensively as she pled her case to him, a slight smirk on her face. He was enjoying her groveling.

“Perhaps Vizsla was right about you being some use after all,” he murmured, shooting another disdainful glance at where Anakin lay, oblivious to his near-death. Maul’s lip curled. “Savage.” He shared some sort of look Satine didn’t comprehend with his brother before tilting his head at Anakin.

Savage’s grip on her wrists tightened painfully for a moment— a warning, Satine realized as she was shoved stumbling straight into Maul, who caught and twirled her in a movement almost dancelike if it didn’t end with the still lit blade of the Darksaber sizzling a hairsbreadth from her own throat. Savage had let go of her in favor of moving over to where Anakin lay and picking him up like he were little more than a doll.

The hair on the back of Satine’s neck rose as Maul spoke in her ear. “Clever thinking on your part, milady, but I would have you remember my words about holding that tongue before trying it again.” He tilted the saber upwards, forcing Satine to crane her head awkwardly upwards to avoid it. 

“Why don’t you lead us back home? There are some things I wish to discuss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh, trouble! You didn't think I'd make it that easy for them, did you? ;)
> 
> WHEW, that was long, but Satine is a complicated girlie and her mind even more so. I also added too many of my own headcanons for her so whoops.
> 
> Comments are always appreciated! <3


	5. Anakin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure exactly how to put it, but I guess warning for violent mind-fuckery this chapter if that kind of thing bothers you.

Anakin hated getting stunned; he always woke up from it feeling like his brain had been briefly microwaved.

Normally, at least his strength in the Force meant he wasn’t out for too long, but when he was tired from doing things like fighting off a good ten or more people at once followed by keeping a burning ship from falling out of the sky, it tended to take him a little longer to come back.

Awakening now, Anakin’s first thought was that in retrospect, it probably hadn’t been the best plan to block the stun shot meant for Satine himself and leave her alone and defenceless against multiple armed opponents including a Force-damned Sith Lord.

As he came to, long and painful experience with these kinds of situations helped Anakin to compartmentalize his current state.

First: He was being held dangling from two pairs of hands. His neck ached from hanging limply at his chest. The hands holding him— restraining him —were rigid tight in that way that usually signaled fear meant to be hidden, if their wary emotions weren’t also buffeting suspiciously at his mind. Letting him know that was a mistake. 

Second: He could sense the fear from them because no one had made an effort to put any sort of Force inhibitor on him; in fact, he couldn’t feel any sort of physical restraints besides the captors holding him at all. That meant that either they were not only fearful but flat-out _stupid_, or someone had another card up their sleeve that assured them Anakin wouldn’t be able to escape.

Anakin was hoping for the former, but common sense told him it was probably the latter. Best to tread carefully.

Third: As he blinked away the headache that seemed to persist from the dizzying fractures of light shining down in his eyes, Anakin could recognize the intricate geometric walls of what had to be the Mandalorian throne room. 

Shit, if they had dragged him all the way back here, he must have been out for a while. That wasn’t good.

Fourth: On a dais in front of him perched an elegant throne. 

On one side of the throne stood the hulking monster Anakin had encountered with his Master on Toydaria, Savage.

Kneeling at the other side of the throne, hunkered inwards and head bowed submissively in a way that just felt wrong was Satine. When Anakin met her gaze, he was relieved to see the increasingly familiar hot-blue flame of fury still burning in her eyes, but he caught worry in there too. 

(A good portion of that worry seemed to be directed at him, and Anakin wondered if perhaps he hit his head when he fell.)

He also noticed the bloody line down her right cheek and the swollen lip.

_Not a scratch,_ he had promised Obi Wan…

Finally, draped regally over the seat of the throne, stare burning directly through Anakin with the fires of the infernal hells, was Darth Maul.

Fifth: Anakin might just be in trouble here.

Maul’s mouth curved upwards into a gash of a sneer. “How nice of you to join us.”

Anakin bared his teeth right back, reasoning that the frigid Dark cloud he felt pressing in on him had to be coming from Maul. “Uh, who are you? I don’t think we’ve met.”

They hadn’t, not really. Back on Tatooine, Anakin didn’t get the best look at the dark shadow that had nearly run him over with a swoopbike before Qui Gon had told him to run. On Naboo it wasn’t any better; he had been forced to watch the hooded figure with the red blade from the other end of the hangar, see the two Jedi engage him for but a second before the autopilot of the ship he was in caught his attention.

So no, Anakin had not met Maul. He was more than familiar, however, with the consequences Maul left behind. 

_It had all been a rush, the end of the Battle for Naboo. _

_Anakin had been ecstatic; he had helped people, just like the Jedi! Once Master Qui Gon came back from dealing with that monster— because of course he would, he was a Jedi, Jedi could beat anyone —he would see what Anakin had done and then he would tell that circle of stuffies who had frowned at Anakin all about it and they would have to let him be a Jedi too._

_Padmé had been there too, all shining smiles and warm eyes— until she wasn’t, and she was pulling him aside with a look of total seriousness on her lovely face. She needed to talk to him privately, she said, and Anakin had known right then that something was wrong._

_During the battle, Padmé told him, unfortunately Master Qui Gon had passed away. She was so sorry._

_Anakin was a slave boy from Tatooine and not dumb. He knew how “passing away” worked— but Master Qui Gon was a_ Jedi. _Jedi didn’t do that, didn’t let others kill them. Qui Gon had made Anakin a promise._

_Jedi did _ not _ break promises._

_So Anakin had ran, ran past a startled Padmé, across the open space and into the halls of the palace he had no clue how to navigate, no knowledge of where his feet were taking him until somehow he ended up outside a door and coming out of it was Qui Gon’s apprentice, Obi Wan._

_One look at Obi Wan’s face, and Anakin had known._

_Anakin’s voice had been small, like the scared child he was, when he had spoken; it was that monster they were fighting. That monster killed him, didn’t it?_

_When Obi Wan spoke, it was nothing but pure awfulness condensed into a single word:_ Yes.

_Anakin hadn’t hesitated before demanding of Obi Wan, you killed the monster, right? A life for a life, as what the desert laws of equality demanded to keep the balance._

_Obi Wan had done nothing but stare him right in the eye and given him a single, unblinking nod. _

_Throughout the years, the beginnings of Anakin’s apprenticeship, through every hesitation in Obi Wan’s words as he mentioned his old master, the nightmares they both knew about that neither of them would bring up come the morning, every melancholy day of terseness that marked the anniversary of The Death, the way eyes would follow Obi Wan in the hallway paired with hushed whispers of “Sithslayer”, throughout it all, what would remain in Anakin’s mind was that dreadful, horrible look that had been on Obi Wan’s face._

_In the moment Obi Wan had confirmed it, though, all nine year old Anakin could focus on was that inky, snarly little curl of hot satisfaction that had washed through him. _

_The monster was dead. Good._

That hate, the hate for causing That Look in Obi Wan’s eyes, the sadness in his soul, had always been there in Anakin, simmering, always building but never feeling the need to go anywhere. 

He simply hadn’t realized just how burning and all-consuming that hatred could be once triggered until the moment Maul unfolded himself from his stolen throne and glared down at Anakin imperiously, and Anakin was struck with the sudden desire to beat him to death with his own mechanical foot.

“I am the ruler of this planet, Anakin Skywalker.” The Sith’s voice was oily smooth. Anakin wanted to choke it out of him. “Now tell me. Why are you here uninvited?”

_He dares…_ “I wanted to give you something,” Anakin spat, muscles tensing to break free of his captors’ weak hold— he could feel his lightsaber in one of their belts —and go right for Maul’s wretched neck, see him get a new mechanical _head—_

Until Maul reached down to rest one hand on the top of Satine’s head, and Anakin froze before making a single movement. 

Maul’s eyes gleamed as he tutted. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

His fingers tangled lightly in Satine’s hair and she looked half-ready to puke.

_Eat shit,_ Anakin thought. “Eat shit,” he told Maul.

Maul’s eyes narrowed at him, exuding even more disgust if that was even possible, and cast a glance over at Savage, who had not moved from where he stood. “How charming. Was he this eloquent when you encountered him, Savage?”

Anakin started to snarl out a retort, but Maul didn’t give him nor Savage time to respond before continuing, now addressing Satine as he tugged at her hair to get her to crane her neck up at him. “I don’t know, Lady Kryze, are we sure Kenobi trained him?”

Satine met his gaze. “I echo the sentiments of the Jedi,” she informed him coldly.

A wild light appeared in Maul’s golden gaze like a flipped switch, the Darkness surging around them like a broken fuse, and quick as a sand snake his hand in Satine’s ponytail twisted tight, causing her neck to jerk awkwardly. Anakin felt a pit in his stomach as she cried out in pain.

_Not a scratch._

“Do you now?” Maul was hissing at her, practically foaming at the mouth. “Tell me, then. Tell me yourself—“

“Hey!” Anakin snapped, trying to draw Maul’s attention back. “You asked her a question, she answered. I thought you were talking to me anyway.”

Maul swung around to fix Anakin with that unstable glower again, thankfully loosening his hold on Satine. “Yes, yes I was,” he agreed, breathing heavily. The feral Dark energy spitting and snapping around him began to retreat sluggishly back towards Maul, lightening the air ever so slightly.

“Apologies,” Maul told him, once again frigid and aloof in his hatred, but he had already shown his hand. Anakin had seen him snap, knew the look and feel of a man barely restraining himself. “It’s just that the Lady and I have already been having quite the discussion about you.” 

“I wouldn’t know, I was asleep,” Anakin said.

“And while you were, she ever so nicely begged me for your life,” Maul said pleasantly. “I was intrigued, I had no idea our Duchess was such close _friends_ with so many Jedi.”

Maul’s implications were fairly obvious, and if not for the seriousness of the moment, Anakin might have laughed at the face Satine made at them. As it was, it was clear she had spoken on his behalf, and upon meeting her gaze he sent her a thankful quirk of the mouth that she responded to with an eyeroll and a faint lip quirk of her own.

Addressing Maul, Anakin chose his words carefully. He had never been good at the delicate sayings needed for things like hostage negotiations; that was what they had had Obi Wan for, but the crux of the entire matter at hand was that Obi Wan was very much not here.

“That makes two of us because she’s certainly not close with me,” Anakin drawled, giving Maul that belligerent smirk he knew made most people want to hit him. He had no clue what he was doing right now, but he knew the important thing was to get all of Maul’s attention off of Satine, convince him she wasn’t important at the moment.

Maul’s eye twitched. “You’ve gone awfully out of your way for her; you truly mean to say all of that means nothing to you?”

Anakin forced a casual shrug. “Well, I am a Jedi, it’s my job to save people, and when I realized she was locked up I had to at least try and break her out. But no, I actually wasn’t here for her at all.”

It sure would be nice if Anakin’s brain knew where his mouth was going with that boldfaced lie.

Maul’s eyes lit up at that. He actually moved away from Satine and over to where Anakin was held, staring into his face. “Really? Well now I’m curious, so I’ll repeat my earlier question: _Why are you here?_”

Anakin may not notice everything all the time, but Maul’s thinly veiled rage was clear to see— as was the reason. The man had obviously spent a large amount of time and effort setting a trap, and now that trap had failed, he wanted to know why.

Unfortunately for Maul, Anakin took pleasure in being a contrary asshole, especially to sleemos who didn’t know how to stay dead when someone killed them.

“I’ve got a metal arm,” Anakin said cheerfully. “I figured I’d come and offer to donate it to Big Guy over there, but it seems he’s already got one of his own, so—“

An animalistic snarl paired with the feeling of his throat being caught in a trash compactor cut Anakin off as he was suddenly yanked into the air by his neck to the sound of Satine’s protesting cry. The black spots dancing in his eyes made it difficult to focus on the Dark thorns crushing his windpipe, but then Maul’s voice was snapping, “No, Savage,” and the pressure on Anakin’s throat faded as he crashed back to the ground.

Retching, Anakin looked up through watery eyes to see Savage glaring at him with pure murder in his eyes, barred only by Maul’s arm across his chest and the shorter man leaning up to whisper something in his ear.

“Stop provoking him!” Satine bit out desperately, and Anakin tried to give her a look that would convey that provoking the Sith Lord was basically his entire plan right now.

Satine stared back at him like he was crazy, so Anakin figured there was a 50/50 chance the point had gotten across.

Whatever Maul was saying seemed to appease Savage, and he stepped back with a last baring of teeth at Anakin.

Anakin winked back at him.

Maul stepped towards Anakin and kicked him in the face.

Not at full force, that would have likely bashed Anakin’s face in, but it was enough that he could feel the crack of his nose, the ache in his teeth, and the gush of blood that spilled out afterwards. He also couldn’t hold back the yell of pain as he gasped for breath while his face lit up in agony, and he could feel Maul’s satisfaction curling around him as the metal foot hooked his chin upwards.

Kriff, Anakin _hated_ him.

Maul’s voice was quiet like a plague. “You will not address my brother in such a crude manner again. Understood?”

Anakin bared his bloody mouth in a smile, knowing it must look rather demented with the swelling face and the red staining his teeth. “Fine,” he spat, trying his best to get a glob of bloody spittle into Maul’s eyes. “Can I make fun of your legs then? Because you making them taller like that really seems like overcompensation for something missing—“

Maul’s foot dug into the soft part of his throat, which didn’t bother Anakin that much; he had been expecting another kick from the look on Maul’s face. 

“You can take the last chance I am offering you to tell the truth and explain your presence here,” Maul informed him, “before I lose my patience.”

Anakin didn’t feel like giving him that today. He stayed silent, blinking faux-innocently up at the Darksider.

Now Maul really looked like he was going to kick Anakin again. “I’ll start,” he offered between gritted teeth. “Did Kenobi send you?”

Anakin didn’t feel like giving him kark all about Obi Wan ever.

“Nope,” Anakin told him. “He never talks about you, I’m starting to wonder if he even remembers who you are. He met you, what, twice?”

That was only partially a lie.

_Anakin had received the news of Maul’s survival after he and Ahsoka had been abruptly pulled from a five week campaign in the Outer Rim to return to Coruscant immediately. No explanation was given except that the Council had determined the both of them fell into the protection range of a recently enacted Protocol 34._

_Protocol 34, Anakin had explained to a confused Ahsoka, was one of the Order’s safety protocols. If there was proof of a sudden, significant threat against one or more Jedi, said Jedi were recalled to the Temple for a couple of days until the Council could determine a way to best equip them to deal with said threat._

_It was little more than glorified temporary house arrest, Anakin had teased Ahsoka in an attempt to reassure her, ignoring the unease in his own gut. He had neglected to mention to her that as Jedi went into dangerous situations with multiple threats every single day, any threat that prompted the Council to enact the extremely rare Protocol 34 was not something to be taken lightly._

_Also, Obi Wan hadn’t been returning his calls, and Anakin had the sneaking suspicion that this concerned him too, especially since Anakin was fairly certain Obi Wan had been on the mission with Master Gallia, now two days mysteriously dead._

_Once the two of them had arrived back at the Temple, Anakin and Ahsoka had been met in the hangar by Masters Yoda and Koon. They were to report straight to their quarters, Koon informed them kindly; the Council would send summons when they had devised a plan._

_Where was Obi Wan, Anakin had challenged. He was worried at this point. He had to know._

_Yoda had given him a strange, sorrowful look, and said that Obi Wan was in his own room, confirming Anakin’s theory._

_Ahsoka hadn’t protested when Anakin told her to go on without him, he had somewhere to go first. She had fixed him with a knowing look and walked off, but Anakin hadn’t cared about being obvious; he had walked straight from there to Obi Wan’s door._

_His worst fears had been confirmed when Obi Wan opened the door with a tired smile, saying that he had been expecting him._

_Anakin had been ushered in, offered a drink from an already half-finished tumblr that sat out on the side table._

_Three more drinks and Obi Wan had told him everything. The whole horrid affair involving Gallia's death, missing arms, help from _Ventress_ of all people, and how apparently tossing a Sith down a hole after they looked very much dead didn't kill them._

_It was like Qui Gon had been murdered all over again._

So while Anakin telling Maul that Obi Wan barely remembered him may not have been the truth, it was more than worth it to now have Maul’s reaction of astounded, indignant fury to remember whenever Anakin thought of the broken look that had been on Obi Wan’s face.

The Force surged around them. “Liar,” Maul spat at him, gold eyes blazing. “Filthy liar. We are connected, he and I, and he knows it just as I do. He may not have shared that information with the likes of you, but— no, no I am not obliged to explain it to you either, you wouldn’t understand.”

Anakin watched as Maul paced back in forth in front of him, shaking his head. “No,” Maul repeated, rounding on Anakin with a snarl again. “You are just a pawn, and a stupid one at that. One he sent in his place instead of facing me like a man and I _need to know why!_”

The hilt of Maul’s saber was being brandished at Anakin’s face, and Anakin really needed to get him off the topic of his obsession before he decided to snap and kill Anakin, and then how would Satine get out of here?

Also, Anakin wasn’t dying before he got to hit this bastard back, just the once. He deserved it, after everything Maul had done.

Wait. There was an idea.

“Obi Wan did not send me,” Anakin told Maul, noting how the Darkness around them shrieked at the mention of Anakin’s Master’s name. “Qui Gon did.”

A pause. “_Qui Gon_ did,” Maul echoed, warning dancing on the edge of his words.

Anakin paid it no mind. “You heard me. I was with him all those years ago on Tatooine. You remember a little kid? That was me. He was going to be my Master and then you killed him.”

Despite the fact that he was currently talking straight out of his ass, Anakin didn’t have to pretend to conjure up the old feelings of grief and hurt. After having trained under Obi Wan, there was no one in the galaxy Anakin thought would have been a better Master for him, but there was always that part inside of him that was the young boy who mourned the loss of the kind man who had been the first to see something special inside of him. That man freed him, promised him a bright future, only to be taken away.

Anakin felt slightly guilty for using the memory of a dead man, but he reasoned to himself that Qui Gon would have wanted him and Satine to survive. “You killed him, and then you didn’t even have the decency to stay dead, you sleemo. You’ve dared to murder more good Jedi. So has your brother. So when the Duchess commed the Council and said you were trying to steal her planet, you better believe I was the first to volunteer to come and end you for good.”

Maul had remained expressionless through Anakin’s rant. Once it ended, the sliver of a smile Anakin didn’t like at all curled its way across his face. “And here I thought the Jedi did not condone revenge.”

“This isn’t revenge, this is justice,” Anakin snarled. “I’ll even give you a fair fight. You and me, one on one. That’s how they do things on your new world, isn’t it?” He looked to his two silent guards for confirmation, only for one to shove him back forwards with the butt of their blaster rifle.

Maul was still staring at him oddly. “You… wish to duel me?”

“Your brother can help you out if you want,” Anakin taunted. “I know Obi Wan beat you both, and I’m just as good— sometimes better. It’s okay to be scared.”

“Anakin, _no!_” he could hear Satine whispering at him, but Anakin wasn’t breaking Maul’s furious stare. He could barely breathe out of his nose, his face was swelling up, and his ribs ached something fierce. He was exhausted, but if he could draw both Maul and Savage into combat, keep the guards’ attention, he could provide Satine with the opportunity to run. She could hide with her terrorist sister if all else failed.

Anakin _wanted_ this fight, too. He could feel that ever-present rage swirling up inside him in righteous anger. He hadn’t been kidding about all the people this monster had hurt, people Anakin cared about; it was time for Maul to pay.

Anakin could finish this once and for all.

Maul leaned right into Anakin's space. “Hmm. No.”

Struggling in his guards’ grip as Maul turned his back on him, the _bastard_, and started to walk away, Anakin gathered up a ball of hatred and shoved it at Maul, sending the Sith stumbling forward. “Coward!”

Maul whirled on him again. “How can I expect an honest duel from you when you are still lying to me now?”

“I’m not lying!” Anakin grit out. “You’re crazy!”

Maul flinched at the last word, and Anakin felt the sensation of stepping over a sensor wire. 

“Fine.” Maul was breathing heavily. “Have it your way.”

Then, to Anakin’s horror, Maul reached out in the Force and grabbed Satine by the throat, dragging her gasping into the air. “Say goodbye, Lady Kryze.”

“No!” Anakin blurted out, sudden rifle butt to his already sore gut preventing him from moving to her. Force, his plan had backfired in the worst possible way. 

No one was supposed to get hurt except for Anakin or Maul.

Not Satine. Absolutely not Obi Wan.

Anakin had _promised._

Maul looked away from the sputtering Satine to give Anakin a vicious grin. “No? Then you do care for each other.”

Satine was shaking her head frantically, and Anakin needed to think fast before she suffocated. “I don’t want an innocent civilian to die. She’s not important to anyone, I’m telling you. Let her go.”

“I find that hard to believe given all the _love_ I can sense reeking off of you.” Maul’s voice treated the word “love” like poison on his tongue. Anakin tensed as he felt the frigid tendrils of Maul’s mind creeping around him.

Maul made a sound of surprise in the back of his throat. “Now wait, that’s not quite right. It seems I owe you an apology, I can see you don’t love _her_ at all.” 

Anakin struggled to hold back the waves of rising alarm building up inside of him as he slammed down doors against Maul’s questing Darkness.

“No, someone else loves her, or so you believe…” Maul’s eyes shone with a cruel triumph. “Ah, and you love _him_ very much, don’t you, Skywalker?”

No.

_”Get out of my head.”_ Anakin barely recognized his own voice, and he didn’t care, grabbing Maul’s presence with a hastily formed claw and tearing it away from private thoughts by the scruff of the neck. He felt a cruel sort of satisfaction when Maul swayed on his feet, letting loose a soft hiss and touching a hand to his temple.

“You’re rather _dark_ for a Jedi,” Maul breathed. “Who knew Kenobi kept the company of one so vicious? Surely he doesn’t approve.”

Anakin took those kinds of comments from a lot of people. A half-crazed Sith Lord was not one of them. “You know _nothing,_” he growled.

“On the contrary,” Maul told him, eyes wild. “Everything is clear to me now.”

“How is anything clear past that pathetic need for attention from the guy who cut your karking legs off?” Anakin challenged. “It’s been more than a decade, get over yourself already!”

“Silence!” Maul roared, and Satine gasped in his hold. “I rule a planet now. I have built my success, I have bled for it, and I will complete my triumph by righting the wrong that was done to me so long ago. You are brought to me on your knees, alive only because I wish it, and you criticize me? You, whose plan was to drop your Master’s beloved at his feet like a pet begging for scraps— that was your plan, was it not? I fail to see how I am the pathetic one.”

Anakin grit his teeth at the words, tightening his shields against Maul’s clawing. “Your obsession blinds you.”

Maul shook his head, chuckling darkly. “No, I don’t think it does. Tell me, Skywalker, do you think he loves you back? The lady here seems to believe so.” He gestured over at Satine, who broke from scrabbling at her neck briefly to kick a leg out at Maul, catching his metal shin.

“Monster,” she coughed out.

Maul sneered at her, squeezing his fist and causing her to start wheezing again. He was toying with her, Anakin realized, toying with them both. He needed to control the furious tide of anger Maul looked dead-set on drawing from him. He couldn’t let him get under his skin, as much as Anakin wanted to tear him into tiny pieces for intruding where he never should have gone. 

“Why are you so invested in his love life?” Anakin asked him. “You jealous?”

Maul cocked his head at Anakin. “Merely curious.”

As much as Maul’s crooked smirk made for pleasant imagery of punching his teeth in, Anakin focused on what he knew was the truth. “Merely curious” his ass. Maul was still trying to set a trap for Obi Wan; he just wanted to know if he had the right bait this time, and Anakin was the idiot who had gotten caught and provided him with more options.

Anakin was also the only one who knew that Maul had had the right bait the first time around, and that Obi Wan would be here as soon as he could no matter who Maul dangled on a string in front of him. Maul also could not know that.

This was one trap Anakin refused to let his friend spring.

So if Maul wanted answers…

Anakin felt a harsh laugh bubbling up from his throat, causing his probably-broken nose to throb painfully as the air went through it in a snort. “You’re wrong, you know. About everything.”

Maul was fiddling absently with one of the lightsabers he held. “Am I?”

“Yeah, you are.” Anakin checked on Satine. While she hardly looked comfortable, from her rasping breaths Anakin could see she at least had air at the moment. “I’m not here for her, but I’m not here for him either. Your entire scheme to get to him is going to fail because he’s not going to show up for anyone.”

“I—“ Maul started to swell up.

“Don’t know him,” Anakin interrupted, not caring about the death glare he got in return. “Stang, you really don’t know him at _all_, do you? Obi Wan is one of the greatest Jedi the Order has. Jedi don’t have attachments, people they care about. They’re not allowed to. He’s way too devoted to his duty to go running off after every rich lady with a crush who needs his help.”

Anakin couldn’t help but glance at Satine at this, trying to figure out a way to convey to her he was bluffing, and he couldn’t help the guilt that pooled in his gut at the pained look on her face that seemed to come from someplace deeper than the grip on her neck.

Maul’s aura was flicking violently, however, and there was a glint in his eyes that served as a warning, so Anakin pressed on. “Honestly, I don’t see how you thought this was actually going to work in bringing him here.”

“That is enough—“

“He won’t come for the Duchess, and if you think he’s going to come for _me_, you’re even dumber than you look.” Anakin cursed himself for his own voice cracking on the last part. “It’s cute you think I like him and all, but I’m going to have to burst your bubble. He tolerates me, at most, and he sure as hells isn’t going to risk his own neck for me just because I’ve gotten into trouble.”

He was lying to Maul, he told himself. All lies. He knew they were lies. 

_I wanted you to be happy,_ Obi Wan had told him. _I hope you are…_

Still, maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to pull his lies from over ten years of anxious thoughts Anakin still couldn’t bring himself to completely believe weren’t true.

At least all that mental worry was finally tormenting someone other than him, Anakin thought as Maul’s face twisted up and Anakin felt another sharp stab at his mental barriers. 

_”You are still lying,”_ Maul uttered, and Anakin was starting to feel the strain of fending off the assault of Darkness from his mind. There was an aching behind his temples, and he could see the faintest flash of pain in Maul’s own eyes.

“You are obsessed,” Anakin spat back at him. “You want to know why I’m certain he won’t come? Because he does not, and will not ever, give two shits about you!”

“Shut _up—_”

“Why should he?” Anakin laughed. “You’re not even a real Sith—“

“I am warning you—“

“You let yourself get replaced by _Dooku_, that’s just embarrassing—“

“Do not force me—“

“And literally the entire galaxy has tried to kill him at some point—“

“You will stop talking—“

“You. Aren’t. _Special!_” 

Anakin could hear his voice rising on each word, registering that at this point the two of them were screaming at each other across the throne room. The Darkness was cloying, stifling, he could barely breathe and it wasn’t from the injured nose. It felt like there was way too much of it in the air to all be coming from Maul; the brother had to be giving off his own cloud or something. It was growing, too, getting worse.

Anakin’s final words seemed to snap something in Maul, because he raised a hand and one of Anakin’s guards’ rifle butts were beating him around the back of the head, and as his vision spun, he could hear Maul’s growling reverberating in his ears.

“You have said more than enough,” Maul’s words came accompanied with the running of nails down the walls of Anakin’s mind, winding around his thoughts. “Your fear betrays you. Your hatred of me. Your worry for your partner and his _friend._ I can see it all.”

Anakin opened up his mouth to say something snide, but Maul wasn’t finished. “I was putting this off, so please know this is all your fault.”

The Force flashed a warning.

“I do not believe you,” Maul continued, prowling back up the dais towards the throne. “But your words do make some sense; perhaps I misjudged where his priorities lay. I know where the are now, or with whom they lie—“

The shadowy void of the Darksaber warbled into existence. 

“So I’d best kill any spares.”

Maul hadn’t realized his mistake that pushing his way into Anakin’s mind left his own— and his intentions —open, so the second Maul began hauling Satine towards the blade that would be her doom, Anakin was latching on, throwing all his superior strength into the movement and _yanking_, pure desperation, no finesse. 

Satine went flying past Maul, his blade scoring harmlessly off the side of her chest armor.

Anakin was able to pull her almost halfway to him before Maul recovered and yanked back, causing her to jerk to a halt in midair with a sharp gasp.

Ignoring the clicking of the blasters his guards were now pressing to his head and back, Anakin met Maul’s incredulous stare. “Let her go.”

Maul bared his teeth in a snarl at him, and Anakin saw the tensing of his arm that meant he was about to throw his other lightsaber at her and cut her in half midair, and Maul _really_ should have put some sort of Force restrictor on him, and let’s see how he liked having someone fuck around inside his head—

Maul gave an enraged yell as Anakin for the first time took the mental offensive, baring down on the slimy Darkness that surrounded his aura. _Let. Her. Go._ Anakin projected, immobilizing Maul’s hand from throwing any sort of blade.

Anakin felt a jerk as Maul made another attempt to pull Satine back onto the still-lit Darksaber, and no, he didn’t think so. With a snarl, he tugged her back his way, but Maul was regaining his grip, and Satine bobbled in the air, a small shriek escaping her this time.

_You’re hurting her, Jedi…_ Maul’s voice echoed in his head, and Anakin shoved him away, repeating his mental command to _drop her._

Maul simply pulled harder, and Anakin was not going to let him gain a kriffing inch, damn him, and he tightened his grasp.

Satine gave an agonized cry, and a bolt of panic flashed through Anakin because _not a scratch_ and he couldn’t let her go, he couldn’t, Maul still hadn’t dropped the other saber.

“Excellent plan, tear her in half,” Maul growled aloud. “One half for me to keep, the other for you to bring back to your Master.”

The last word was punctuated with a brutal shove into Anakin’s head, and everything was spinning, and Maul had forced his presence onto the both of them for the _last time_, and Anakin summoned everything he had and charged into the swirling Darkness of Maul’s head with the intentions of ripping apart everything he found. 

Maul couldn’t be poking where he shouldn’t, finding things he had no right to, _touching him_ if there was nothing left to touch him with.

Inside, everything wasn’t dark, it was a brutal, bloody shade of red, accented in flashes of green light. The rasp of women’s voices, red red red red light, pain, falling for what felt like an eternity, pain, the stink of garbage, the shriek of metal, pain, the feeling of being taken from, again and again and again and again, and _pain_ and being a monster, not recognizing your own face, voices everywhere, no one to trust, always being used, pain, falling again, so much pain riding up his spine like flashes of lightning, literal lightning, golden eyes, winter blue eyes, Anakin would recognize Obi Wan anywhere, he was everywhere, everywhere he turned, right there with the _pain…_

And the shadow, hovering ever present in the background, always appearing, golden eyes and the taste of ozone, blood and death, a rasping voice and Anakin _knew_ that voice from somewhere— _where did he know it?_ — but when he tried to push, the sulfurous eyes blazed and the world lit up with lightning and there was more pain.

Anakin was clawing and shredding through everything he found, the Darkness was wrapping around him like the cold grip of death and he couldn’t breathe, Force, Anakin just wanted everything to stop _touching_ him—

(Vaguely, he registered the sensation of bodies dropping to the floor next to him.)

Maul wasn’t taunting him anymore but he was still there, still in Anakin’s head, and he could hear screaming over the howling in his head, it sounded like Maul, but his throat ached, it could have been himself.

He definitely heard Satine screaming though, and Maul still had not let go of her, and that was a _mistake_ and Anakin was going to correct that now.

He tasted a bloody smile working its way across his own lips and focused his frenzied assault on Maul into a pointed effort; he could feel the fear that was not his own and Maul was right to fear him, one more second and he’d—

Maul’s fear grew just for a second, and then there was another’s fear, one Anakin had honestly forgotten about in all of this, and before he could turn around he was punched through the back with a blast of pure frost.

The world became silent and Maul disappeared, and Anakin felt an icy cold spreading from the center of him.

Something was humming.

He looked down.

Something red and glowing was shining out of the front of his gut.

_Huh._

Just as quickly, it winked out of existence as if it hadn’t even been there, and Anakin felt like he had been punched all over again.

The chilly numbness was still spreading and the room seemed to be losing color, and the last thing Anakin could recall as the ground rushed up to meet him was that he hadn’t been able to figure out who that familiar face in Maul’s head had been.

* * *

Savage didn’t think.

Thinking wasn’t his job.

Savage served.

He had served the Nightsisters, for a while, before they had betrayed him.

Now he served Maul.

His Master.

His brother.

Maul was well-learned, so he thought, and Savage was fine with him making the decisions.

Kenobi had wronged them both, he had taken Savage’s arm and his brother’s dignity, and revenge was in order. He hadn’t disagreed with a step of Maul’s plan as the Mandalore plot emerged; Maul knew best. Maul would see them through. Maul would protect them, and Savage would protect Maul.

Savage was not supposed to think.

The glowing, snarling, screaming creature on the ground was attacking his Master. His Master— his brother was bleeding from the ears, the nose, screaming right back. His aura was weakening.

Maul had already reprimanded him for attacking Skywalker earlier.

But Savage also remembered… remembered something.

Someone else— another brother? No, there was only Maul. —dangling in the air, screaming, calling his name.

_As long as I live, you will not harm him_.

Maul protected him, but Savage protected Maul too.

Savage did not think. He acted.

He was inching around the standoff the best he could, shockwaves from the powerful one nearly knocking him off his feet.

_Monster,_ people had called Savage. Monsters should be killed.

Savage was behind Skywalker and Maul was in pain and Savage did not think.

Savage ignited his saber and stabbed Skywalker straight through the back.

The shuddering gasp and total vanishing of that blazing aura as the man straightened on Savage’s blade drained any remaining courage he had; Savage extinguished it again and left Skywalker to crumple to the floor.

The second he did, Maul, too, slumped to the ground like a stringless puppet, Darksaber slipping from his grasp and falling at the foot of the dais.

Kryze dropped too, bouncing off the steps as she went, and Savage wrote her off as dead or soon to be as he rushed past her form to his ailing brother.

Something in Maul’s Force signature was wrong.

Maul’s eyes were faint, staring off into the distance. “He has a new apprentice,” Maul croaked, and Savage had to lean in to hear him. “We have all been fooled.” 

_What?_

Maul’s eyes rolled back into closed eyelids, not dead, but dead to the world, and Savage was starting to slightly panic, when the click of a blaster behind him startled him.

He whirled around and there was Kryze in a heap on the ground, propped upward on a wobbling elbow, face pale and pinched with pain, but she was holding a blaster in her other hand, wide eyes chips of ice.

Savage’s mind spun. _She was a pacifist, a weakling, we never bothered checking her belt, she wouldn’t—_

The blaster sounded and there was a flash of light and then Savage thought no more.

* * *

Obi Wan and Mace had just landed on Elul’i. 

He had politely greeted the elders, representatives from both sides of the political dispute who had came to greet them, and as they walked through the main thoroughfare of the city towards the grand tower where the talks would be held, Obi Wan was planning to duck away and back to the airstrip as soon as he and Mace were excused to where they would be staying to freshen up for the conference.

Anakin still had not contacted him, nor had Satine, and he had wasted far too much time.

As they reached the front steps of the giant spire, a burning spike ripped its way through Obi Wan.

Visions he couldn’t keep a hold on spun through his head and he felt his legs giving out from under him.

Voices were yelling around him, and Obi Wan recognized the face and strong arms holding him as that of Mace, brow furrowed in a worried expression as his mouth moved.

Obi Wan couldn’t respond to him, simply knowing that something had gone dreadfully, awfully wrong with Anakin.

Mace’s mouth was still moving, but then Mace was stiffening and slumping over on top of him, and Obi Wan felt a prick in his own neck and everything faded to black, images of Anakin lying crumpled on a floor still swirling through his head.

* * *

The first thing Sidious sensed was a problem.

As vast as his power may be, he was not omnipotent, and it took a second for him to draw on that familiar, delicious well of Darkness that cloaked him and focus on what persistent spark of ire had just popped up throbbing behind his eyes.

_Ah. The failed apprentice._

Maul was a minor nuisance Sidious had deemed irrelevant, unimportant to his plans and unlikely to pose any sort of true threat.

His behavior recently, with his acquisition of that brutish beast he now kept at his side, as well as his open antagonization of the Jedi, had proved more of a problem than Sidious had anticipated, and he had been considering paying his loose end a visit for a while now.

That visit would have to be now, Sidious decided as the Force revealed more and more to him; an entire planet was far more power than could be allowed to the likes of scum such as Maul—

_What was Skywalker doing there?_

_No._

In his reflection in the window, Sidious observed a gigantic crack split it in half as his eyes glowed molten.

This could change everything.

This could destroy the long, excruciatingly detailed plan Sidious had been painstakingly cultivating for over the last decade. 

Sidious could feel the vibrations of the objects in the room around him as well as taste Amedda’s faint fear as he hovered in the doorway behind him. He forced most of the venom out of his voice. “Prepare my ship.”

As Amedda scurried away to do as he was told, Sidious stared back out over the sunrise of the world he was so close to holding in the palm of his hand.

If Skywalker could not triumph over a worm such as Maul, perhaps he had never been strong enough to be the weapon Sidious needed in the first place, the Sith told himself.

Nevertheless, Sidious did not appreciate surprises. 

Maul had best pray, if he valued his pathetic existence, that when Sidious reached Mandalore, Skywalker was still alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I understand I have put in the tags that there will be no stabbing for Manpain and that I have very much just stabbed a man, but I will stand by the opinion that there is a difference between stabbing a character for Manpain™ and stabbing a character for other reasons.
> 
> This chapter was a lot harder to write than I expected and I'm proud of me. What did you guys think? I know the ending could have been predicted if y'all caught the way I was twisting with the original plot, so I'm interested to see if anyone guessed!
> 
> Comments are the bomb.com!


	6. Satine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a smattering of Mando'a words in here that are probably the only thing I've taken from the EU, but I'm firmly Death of the Author-ing them because I Do Not Like Karen Traviss. At All. Anyway, they don't have translations, but y'all should be able to get the gist of what they mean regardless.

People often made the mistaken assumption that choosing not to fight meant that one was weak, that they were helpless. Satine had made it a goal in life to dissuade people of that notion when they met her. 

She was the Duchess. Weakness wasn’t an option for her.

The inherent show of weakness of being forced to kneel beside her own throne while a murderer sat in it, talking over her head to a restrained Anakin while she was ignored on the side like a gods damned child was almost more painful than Maul’s brutish grip in her hair, on her throat.

Weakness didn’t seem to be an option for Anakin either, as the foolish man seemed unable to keep his mouth shut as he taunted Maul over his legs, over Obi Wan, over everything, and here she could see in full all the aggression she had recognized in him— and what that aggression hid.

Anakin’s face when Maul suggested who he really loved looked more like he had been struck then when Maul had actually kicked him in the nose. His words afterwards had been more vicious, more spiked with poison. 

Satine had been thoroughly schooled in debate since she was five years old, and she wasn’t blind to her own short emotional fuse. She knew when someone was lashing out because they were hurting, because they were afraid, and once again she was stricken by the duality of Anakin Skywalker.

She had been taught how to control and use her opponent’s pain to her own advantage, verbally pick at the open wounds until they fell off the rails and she could swoop in for the proverbial kill while they were unbalanced.

Maul evidentially had not been taught the same, given how easily he was letting Anakin’s words get under his own skin and Satine could only watch the situation spiral rapidly out of control.

And continue to do nothing while she was almost stabbed. 

Then nearly torn apart.

She would confess mostly tuning out the world at large at this point, the pain spiking throughout her body making it difficult on anything else. She could feel the _beskar’gam_ that was supposed to protect her warping around her body, pressing in, restricting movement, restricting airflow, everything. Inside her, something _popped_, and then something else, and then something else, and she was burning and everything hurt and this could not be how she was going to die.

Faintly, voices were screaming around her, she knew she was screaming, and then everything went silent.

The awful pressure around her vanished and she felt the sensation of falling— right, she had been in the air —and then the brutal impact of the floor actually knocking her out for a good couple of seconds.

When she came to, everything hurt. The air was fire, shards of glass in her lungs. Surprisingly, her vision was just fine despite the rest of her being near-immobilized in agony. The first thing she registered was that her head was pressed awkwardly to the bottom step leading up to the throne, and she could feel the blood welling around the gouge on her cheek that must have reopened when she hit it.

The second thing she noticed was Anakin.

He was spilled across the ornate floor only a couple of paces away from her, his two faceless guards lying on either side of him. None of them were moving.

Panic broke through her pain. 

_Where was Maul?_

Growling from over her shoulder set her off. Her body lit up in protest as she struggled to turn and face the giant hulking shadow looming over her, crouched at the top of the dais. Her arm was moving up to her belt before she could even think and grabbing the blaster there on reflex. She hadn’t even remembered she had been carrying it. Evidently neither had the Sith.

Propped up on an elbow like she was, she was five seconds from collapsing in pain, but that only made the low, gruff voice in her head scoff at her like he had so many times before. _Work through the pain. Are you just going to lie down and die?_

She felt her finger cock the weapon. 

The rapid fire beat of her heart felt like one blow after another to her aching chest.

She was losing her head; she could barely think over the blood roaring in her ears. She needed to put down the wretched gun and—

Savage was abruptly rounding on her, gold eyes glittering, and _no no no no no, stay away—_

The only thing she truly registered thinking between feeling the kickback of the first blaster shot was how the white light lit up Savage’s face before impact, showing the look of surprise that had fallen across it. He hadn’t thought she had it in her.

Savage keeled backwards like a felled tree, landing in an awkward slump half against the throne and half over his unconscious brother’s body.

At the sight of Maul’s face, Satine shot that too.

Then she shot each of them again. These were two massive Zabrak Sith Lords, she didn’t know, care about, or trust the effect a single shot would have on. Better to be safe than sorry.

Maul’s body jerked on the second shot, jostling something loose from his hand and clanking down the steps to land almost directly at eye level she was trembling to maintain.

The Darksaber.

_It’s returned to me,_ she thought, and if every breath wasn’t full of thorns at the moment, she might burst into hysterical laughter. Why was it whenever this cursed blade made its way back to her, it always came with a trail of blood?

_Because,_ her mother’s voice echoed, _This sword is an extension of the arm of the Mand’alor and the pride of House Vizsla. Its heirs can only be separated from it by death…_

The words had rang true, three years later she been forced to pick the geometric hilt up from a cold, lifeless hand and claim the birthright she was not yet ready for. She had thought voluntarily entrusting it to Pre, a break in tradition to match the heralding in of her new era, might break the blood curse, pack one last relic of her family’s war away for good.

She had been so young.

Trembling fingers reaching out to grasp the wretched thing, she traced the familiar lines; it hadn’t changed. She knew Pre would have gone down fighting with it.

She had been so _naïve._

A quiet moaning sound from behind her pulled her from the depths of bitter memory, surfacing past the pain in her core. She could still barely breathe.

_Anakin,_ she thought.

Twisting away from the throne in a movement that felt like acid being poured down her lungs, Satine lurched her way across the floor towards the triad of lifeless bodies, Darksaber clutched tighty in one fist, every motion another stab in the chest. It would make things easier if she dropped the saber, but she wouldn’t. She could not dare.

It was easy, after comparing Anakin’s heaving sides to the two bodies of the guards laying beside him, to tell that the latter were dead, given the unnatural stillness she knew all too well from a dead body, as well as the unnatural angle that revealed a snapped neck.

Satine was not a squeamish person. Death was not a foreign face to the Mando’ad, they came in contact with Her more often than not. That wasn’t it. Satine had never had a problem with dead bodies until she was seventeen.

_(Somewhere, Bo was screaming, unintelligible, horrible. The two bodies that stood out amongst all the other dead, the gleaming twin armored shells all that was left of those Satine had thought immortal. People were kneeling, kneeling to her, looking for her to take charge, take her place—)_

After that, whenever she saw a corpse, without fail its face would shift to another one she knew far better, one of a pair that still haunted her dreams. Every time, and she couldn’t stop it, so every time it felt like her stomach was going to crawl its way up into her throat.

Given that holding back nausea made her chest pain even more painful, Satine ripped her attention from the two dead and forced herself to focus on the third man she knew was alive— he was alive, she told herself as her eyes caught on the horrifying sight of the smoking hole punched through Anakin’s lower back, below where his armor might have protected him.

He was curled away from her, and his chest was moving, he was alive, he was _alive_, nevermind that he should not be, she just needed to turn him over and get a good look at his face—

She nearly dropped him in cold shock, a gag catching in her throat, and now she was turning away to cough loudly, stutteringly, agonizingly, but when she turned back to look him in the eyes— don’t look down, don’t look at his front, don’t look how bad —it was the same. A bloodless face with mouth working faintly on soundless words, open eyes that gazed hauntedly into the distance. Open blue eyes, now ringed and pulsing with an ebbing and flowing ring of the same horrible sulfur yellow she had seen in the Sith.

He looked feral, he looked _dead_. He looked terrified, like he had seen far too much.

All that Satine could choke out was his name, helplessly giving him a shake and Not Looking Down.

Oh gods. He wasn’t alive, this wasn’t living, she had killed him—

His eyelid twitched, and those awful flickering eyes returned from where they had journeyed, locking in with her own, pained but coherent.

Satine released a trembling breath that spawned another coughing fit, and the gentle hand on her shoulder startled her.

“Easy,” Anakin rasped, face pinched and dripping with sweat. “You’re hurt.” She saw his expression shift into something darker, brows furrowing over glassy eyes. “My fault. I hurt you.”

Now he was the one choking and Satine found herself grabbing his other hand, surprised at how hard it felt, almost like metal. “No, no, you didn’t, you need to relax—“

“I promised— I promised not a scratch…” His breathing was starting to intensify in shuddering gasps, and more yellow was seeping into his irises. “Failed— sorry, I’m so sorry—“

“You didn’t— no, it’s alright, I’m okay!” Satine clutched his trembling form far too tightly. She had absolutely no idea what to do. The acrid smell of burning flesh drifted up into her nose and she had to choke back another wave of bile, setting off more coughing instead.

“Maul—“

“He’s done, they both are, you did it, you saved us—“

“My head, saw things—“

“We’re going to get out of here. We’ll get you help—“

“_Failed._”

“_No._ Please, you’re injured, just stay down, no, don’t look—“

Satine attempted to pull his chin back upwards to keep him from staring dazedly at the matching hole out the front of him— Satine was not thinking about it —and when she met his gaze, the flecks of gold danced almost tiredly.

“I feel cold,” Anakin whispered. “Too cold,Maul in my head. I let him, I failed.”

“Hey!” Satine protested, coughing again while lightly beating his chest at the same time. “Don’t close your eyes, you can’t. We aren’t safe yet.”

His eyes flicked to her face and Satine barely resisted the flinch. His eyes frightened her, his actions had too, his whole situation had her terrified, and she did not know what to do. They were glimmering brighter, and Satine recognized the water in them.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“It’s ok—“

“Tell him,” Anakin insisted suddenly, hand on her shoulder tightening. “Please tell him I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“

A pit opened up in Satine’s gut. “Tell him yourself,” she hissed, terror kindling into rage at Anakin, did he really have the audacity to try and die on her right now? “I’ve told you, I’m not leaving without you.”

A crack of a smile appeared on his lips even as his eyelids started to droop dangerously. “Moof-brain.”

“Did you just call me—“

“Y’gotta go, Your Grace. You can’t die. Leave me, I’ll b’fine.”

“No,” Satine repeated like a broken recording. “I won’t.” _I can’t._

Anakin’s eyes flared and his face twisted into a grimace. “Satine,” he said urgently. “You need t’leave. Can’t feel my legs— I’ll slow you down.” 

_”What?”_

“Something’s gonna happen, something Dark. It’s here now, ‘m a part of it, can feel it. You gotta go. Gotta get safe. I promised…”

Satine wasn’t registering his frantic ramblings about darkness, too focused on the jerking of his upper body and how his eyes were rolling back under eyelids. “No. No, no, no, damn you, stay awake! Don’t—“

Anakin was slumping in her arms, and gods, she didn’t have time, Jedi were tough, she knew that—

_(This wasn’t the first Jedi to lay half-dead at her feet after defending her)_

—but she knew if she did not get him help soon, the man before her would die.

Well, she knew she would be killed for sticking around anyway…

Crawling over to one of the dead bodies, she grabbed a vibro-knife from the belt and slashed at their pant leg, removing a strip of the stretchy, meshy underarm. Inching back to Anakin, she wrapped the material around his still-steaming entry and exit wound. It wouldn’t hold for long, but for now it had to be enough. Satine struggled to her feet and oh, her lungs did not like that, none of her body did, it almost felt as if her movements themselves were being constricted by something.

She looked down.

_Oh._

The warped, crumpled armor that was definitely not made of quality material, the armor she hadn’t even wanted to wear, was wrapped awkwardly around her form. It looked like it had been wrinkled and folded like a piece of flimsi, angles bending awkwardly inwards in what must be the source of the restricted movement as well as some of the pain.

A shiver ran down her spine as she recalled the two brutal forces tearing at her, pulling in either direction, and thought of how she might have faired had she not been wearing armor. 

Anakin had been one of the ones tearing at her while she hung in the air like a caught fish.

He had also been the one to insist she wear the armor in the first place.

Another rasping cough rattled her out of her anxious thoughts. She spared Anakin another glance and _don’t look at his stomach, don’t look at his stomach, don’t, focus on his chest, it’s still rising…_

No. He wasn’t dead yet, and he wasn’t going to be if Satine had anything to say about it. Not today.

She clipped the Darksaber to her belt and leaned down to grab Anakin by the armpits, growling “_Haar’chak_” as her ribs screamed in protest. He was heavy and she was injured, but she still had to try. His armor could act as a sled to reduce friction anyway. She pulled, and her vision wavered because her chest _really_ didn’t like that, but she worked through the pain and kept pulling and thank the gods, it was working, he was sliding across the floor. Slowly, but she was doing it. The Darksaber hit the side of her thigh irritatingly, and she didn’t know how Jedi dealt with this—

Wait. Anakin was a Jedi, where had his saber gone?

Satine shot a reluctant glance back at the throne where the two large bodies were slumped. Gods, please don’t let one of them have taken it. Satine didn’t want to be anywhere near either of them ever again.

Thankfully, it seemed like luck was on Satine’s side for once, for as she let Anakin slip out of her arms and knelt painfully by one of the two dead guard bodies, she could see the familiar gleaming cylinder at their belt.

Lightsabers were banned on Mandalore, Satine recalled with a flash of amusement as she clipped Anakin’s saber next to the Darksaber on her own belt. Now she, the Duchess, held two.

_Well, I’ve broken all the other rules so far,_ she thought sardonically as she bent back down to pick up Anakin, breathing deeply through the pain.

It felt like eons to drag him to the intricate doors of the throne room, and as she reached the threshold, slumping against the doors in a violent coughing fit, she looked back over what was once the symbolic center of her power. 

The fading light shone in through the elegant stained glass walls, illuminating the bodies on the floor, the bodies at her throne. Her wall portrait’s asymmetrical gaze caught her eyes, and in her pained, starved state, it felt like the woman was staring at her, arms crossed in judgement.

_Duchess of peace,_ those eyes accused. _Look at how that turned out. Long may you reign indeed…_

Satine ripped her gaze away from the baleful stare and readjusted her grip on Anakin. _Talking to paintings means you’ve been locked up for too long,_ she told herself as she pushed through the doors, coughing into her shoulder pauldron. 

The process down the halls to where she knew there was a maintenance lift was slow and painstaking. Even with the armor making it an easier slide, dragging six feet of deadweight on what had to be broken ribs was exhausting, and Satine was forced to stop for breaks, try and breathe, and hack up what felt like a lung.

After her fifth stop, despair washed over her. Who was she kidding? Satine couldn’t rescue them, she was no warrior. She was barely standing up as it was. She spared a glance down at Anakin’s pale, ashen face; his lips were slightly parted and she could only hope to the gods that he was still breathing. She gave him another halfhearted tug and he moved a foot. Blast it, she wished Obi Wan were here.

_If Obi Wan wanted to be here, would you be in this situation in the first place?_ her mind whispered. Satine ignored it.

Anakin’s words rang in her head. _He’s way too devoted to his duty to go running off after every rich lady with a crush…_

A part of Satine knew Anakin had been trying to take Maul’s attention off of her, hells, she had said the same thing herself.

It didn’t make the words hurt any less, and it certainly didn’t help assuage her growing fear that they were true.

Now how would he see her? Torn and bedraggled and grey, abandoning her planet and her principles and slinking back to him with the lifeless body of— of _someone_ who wasn’t just anyone to him.

Another cough burned through her body, shaking Satine out of her self-pity. Kark it all, she didn’t have time to stand around and fret, or she really would get her and Anakin both killed. Taking another breath full of thorns, Satine started moving again.

She had almost made it to the final lift when they found her. She had gotten lucky up until now, though she had heard guards’ voices roaming through the palace halls, she hadn’t encountered any. A miracle, given that Satine hadn’t given any thought to what she would do if she did encounter resistance.

The Death Watch guards weren’t giving her any time to think now; drawing their weapons on her and Satine knew they wouldn’t hesitate to kill, so in desperation, she let Anakin drop and tore the Darksaber free from her side in a scream of onyx. “Stop! I command you!”

She had sworn she would never wield this blade.

Everything about her right now was two steps from coming apart at the seams, she could not take anything more. She could not take this. No one could know that, though, no one could see how weak she was, so she bared her teeth and adjusted her grip on the saber’s hilt.

She half expected the soldiers to flat out ignore her and shoot anyway, but the leader paused, signaling to the group to hold their fire. “You dare give us orders, traitor?”

All of Satine’s weariness, all her pain, all her anguish, all was cast aside in one hot burst of fury. _They call_ me _traitor?_ “I give you orders,” she snarled, levying the dark blade in the leader’s direction, “because I am your Duchess.”

The soldier laughed, unfazed. “Duchess of what? Your followers are gone. You have no power. The only thing you are is a treacherous weakling clinging to something that doesn’t belong to her.”

“Tell me then, soldier. Who does it belong to?” Satine challenged.

The guard raised their head. “Lord Maul. Our Mand’alor.” Was that pride in their voice? Satine could vomit.

“Maul,” she grit out. “_Te aruetii._” The outsider. “The monster you let into our home and murder our people so you could ‘save’ them from your own violence?”

The guards brandished their weapons at her threateningly and oh, they didn’t like her pointing that out at all, but right now she was too furious to care. “Maul is strong!” the lead soldier snapped. “He will make Mandalore strong again! Not like—“

“Me?” Satine interrupted. “If Maul is so strong and I am so weak, then why do I hold the Darksaber and not him?” She gave them no time to answer. “This blade was wielded by the Mand’alor before me, Duchess Rin Esta of House Vizsla, the She-Wolf. My mother.” Satine couldn’t remember the last time she had acknowledged her. “As her heir, this blade is my birthright, and in winning this from Maul, I have won back the throne that _he_ had no right to claim in the first place.”

Was she possibly implying she had dueled Maul for the saber herself? Perhaps so. It didn’t matter; Satine had still shot him, she had subdued Savage on her own, and the throne and saber were rightfully hers anyway. The old laws of violence these terrorists held so dear should be on her side. According to Bo, these people had turned on Pre for Maul quick enough. If she could just convince them…

“Maul won that saber from Pre Vizsla fairly and with honor,” the guard argued.

“And how did Pre get it? He certainly never dueled me for it,” Satine said.

_(Pre had been angry with her about it, she realized now, thinking back on when she had given him the saber in the first place. Did she not want at least a ceremonial duel, he had asked her at the time, face pinched in a way she had been unable to decipher. Give the blade a proper turnover? Satine had been foolish and assumed he was simply humble and uncomfortable with the idea of taking charge of something that was Satine’s by right after her mother’s passing. No, she had assured him. I will not open my reign with the perpetuation of violence of any sort, be it tradition or no. I cannot wield this, and I trust you to keep our family heirloom safe, Pre… He had taken the blade with a short bow, and she hadn’t seen it again until he pulled it on her all those years later.)_

The guards seemed to believe she was implying something else. More vicious weapon brandishing occurred. “You dare accuse him of theft?”

“I simply say that I have just as much right, maybe more, to this saber and the title of Mand’alor,” Satine told them, final word catching on a crackling cough. _Osik._ She needed to go.

“You don’t look fit to stand,” the guard sneered. “Let alone rule.”

“Then take a look at your precious Maul in the throne room!” Satine snapped, completely done. Here she was, having been savaged by these terrorists for over a week, and now she was forced to defend her own title to them? Like this was some sort of political debate and not her very life?

The head guard tensed at her words, nodding to the left of their squad. “To the throne room.” The soldiers barked affirmatives and took off down the halls. Time was running short.

Now only a few soldiers faced her. She could do this. Satine lowered the saber. “Let me pass.”

The guard cocked their head. “Or what? Are you saying you actually know how to use your ‘birthright’?”

“I do,” Satine confirmed, bluffing over the fact she hadn’t trained in swords for over twenty years. “But I choose not to. Please step aside— or you can sully your honor and attack your ruler when she has no consented to a fight.”

The guard took a step towards her.

Satine held her breath.

Then the elegant glass window the squad had their backs to exploded, sending the remaining bodies flying.

Shielding her face to protect it from flying shards of glass, Satine did not hesitate. Feeling a burst of adrenaline, she leaned down, grabbed Anakin, and heaved him into the fray. The soldiers were sprawled across the ground, most lying motionless with one or two rolling around screaming. Satine prayed that Anakin’s armor would protect him from the glass scattered all over the floor.

Around the corner and there was the lift and—

Satine froze upon seeing the ghost reflected in the glass walls.

There stood a woman in red _beskar’gam_. At her side was the feared Darksaber. Blood ran down her face from a gouge on her cheek, strands of pale blonde hair coming loose from her messy ponytail and turning orange upon sticking to the wound. Her face was stained with soot and red with exertion, illuminating the wild ice blue of her eyes. The woman looked fierce, ready to kill. In her grasp lay a Jedi, the enemy of the Mandalorians.

Satine’s mother stared back at her through those walls for far too long, until the expression melted into one of fear that Satine knew Rin Esta had never worn in her life, or at least not in front of her daughter.

Those scared eyes were all Satine’s.

Spell broken, Satine towed Anakin the rest of the way to the maintenance lift, maneuvering them both inside and pressing the lowest floor. If she remembered correctly, this would end them out in a little side alley where the staff came and went for deliveries. 

The doors opened, Satine tensing for an ambush, then relaxing upon seeing the empty alley she had thankfully recalled perfectly. This was good. This could work, she told herself as she inched them down the alley towards the light of the front of the palace. She just had to get them both past the palace grounds and then she could hide in the city, find Bo—

Overcome by an especially large coughing fit, Satine wasn’t looking where she was going at all when she emerged around the side out into the main courtyard, too focused on keeping a hold on Anakin. Therefore, she didn’t notice she was surrounded until the clicking of blasters and a voice barking “Halt!” caused her to look up and notice the ring of red soldiers encircling her and Anakin completely. There was nowhere left to run.

Once more, Satine hesitantly reached for the Darksaber, the only possibility she could think of being that maybe, just maybe, she could use it to talk herself out of trouble again, but the group in front of her was lined up like a firing squad waiting for the signal, and there was just so many, and oh gods, she had failed, she was going to die here, Anakin was going to die here, she wouldn’t even get to pass on his message—

Then, there was chaos.

Blaster bolts started raining down from the sky, and as she saw her surprised attackers raise their own blasters in frantic reaction, Satine had a moment to notice familiar blue armor before a shot whizzed way too close to her own head, and realizing she was still an open, standing target, Satine hit the deck and flung herself over Anakin in an attempt to keep both of them safe.

She noted with relief she could still feel the faint rise and fall of Anakin’s chest. It was almost nonexistent, though, and that sent worry rushing right back over her.

A rough hand shaking her shoulder had Satine whirling on the culprit with a yell that turned into a cough and the Darksaber hilt pointed vaguely in their direction.

“Good to see you too, _vod_,” said the owl-faced mask staring Satine down. “Ditch the body. We need to move.”

Satine gripped Anakin tighter. No matter what they may have been in the past, the woman standing before her now was still a tentative ally at most. “The body is alive and coming with me,” she said.

Bo Katan ducked a blaster shot soaring over her head with a curse, whipping around to fire off three more shots out of her own pistol, then turned back and yanked her helmet off to glower at Satine and Anakin in one smooth movement.

That glower was one thing Satine knew how to handle, so she narrowed her eyes and glared right back. Her glare was helped by the sudden uncomfortable sensation that she was forgetting something.

Bo’s eyes drifted over to Anakin’s injury and her nose wrinkled, a habit Satine recognized when her sister was about to become difficult. “Well if he’s not dead, he’s going to be any moment. He’ll just slow us down and—“ Her eyes widened upon catching a real look at Anakin’s face. “And that’s not even your _Jetii._ Satine, what in the hells?”

“I don’t have a _Jetii_,” Satine hissed frantically, because damn it all, they had no time for this. “You’re right that he’s not mine, Bo, it means he is _not mine to lose_. He is alive and I will make sure he stays that way, because I will not be responsible for the death of someone else’s loved one!” Bo opened her mouth again to argue some more, but Satine cut her off. “I’m not leaving without him, Bo. That’s not negotiable.”

Another shot went by them and Bo’s face grew increasingly murderous. “Fine. But we drop him if it gets bad.”

“You will _not—_”

“Hey!” Bo ignored Satine and waved her arm in a complicated hand gesture and two additional blue helmeted warriors showed up, one holding a jetpack. “Take the deadweight,” Bo told them, and Satine felt a surge of panic as they made their way towards Anakin. 

“If you drop him—“ A coughing burst interrupted her threat, ruining the effect. “—I will follow him, I swear it. Do not drop him.”

She was eloquently grunted at in response, one grabbing Anakin’s arms, another placing the jetpack by Satine’s side and grabbing his feet. Bo picked up the jetpack and held it out to Satine. “You still remember how to fly one of these things?”

Satine resisted her eyeroll as she turned around to let her sister secure it to her back. “I’ll be fine.” She coughed again, and this one was painful enough to send black spots across her vision. She looked upwards and found herself angry at Bo’s raised eyebrow. “Leave it, Bo, I said I’ll be fine.”

Bo didn’t resist her own eyeroll. “You just can’t make things easy, can you— _shab_, what did you do to this armor?” 

“Maul,” Satine muttered, too tired to explain further and unsure of what to do with the odd face her sister made in response as she picked at the warped plates digging into Satine’s upper body. 

Before Satine could say anything else, Bo wrenched the jetpack into place on her back, setting off a wave of pain so fierce Satine doubled over wretching. She felt hands feeling her sides tentatively and Satine swatted them away, forcing herself back upright and scowling through streaming eyes, daring Bo to doubt her capability again. Bo didn’t, just gave Satine another complicated look, put her helmet back on and lifted off into the air with a hand on Satine’s arm, and Satine had to start her own pack and follow unless she wanted to be dragged.

Satine kept a jaig’s eye on the two fighters transporting Anakin as Bo and her soldiers clumped together when in flight, herding Satine and the unconscious man to their protective center while the outsides returned fire as Death Watch gave pursuit. Her chest was not enjoying the digging pressure of the jetpack straps, so while she wouldn’t admit it, Satine was glad Bo kept her steadying hand on Satine’s arm.

As the group swooped through Sundari once more, Satine was stricken with a sense of extreme déjà vu, remembering the frantic chase in the speeder during her first escape attempt— how many days ago was it? She had lost all sense of time —to send her message to Obi Wan. Bo had been at her side then too, Bo and—

Satine let out a gasp at the realization of what she had been forgetting— _who_ she had been forgetting.

“Bo Katan, where is Korkie?”

“What—? Hey, watch it!” Bo tugged at Satine’s sudden grasp on her blaster arm that had caused a shot to go wild. Satine was undeterred.

“Korkie, Bo. Where is he?”

She had forgotten about him. How in the hells could she have done that to him? Satine felt the old guilt washing back over her as her mind began replaying how last time she had turned from sending her message to see the brave, foolish boy she had raised, who had risked everything to try and get her out. How she had been just in time to watch a massive Death Watch soldier draw back and punch him in the too-young face. How his head had snapped so sharply to the side. How his body had spun to the ground and hadn’t gotten back up.

Satine had sworn, before one of the guards surrounding her had blocked her view, that she had seen Bo swooping towards Korkie’s body, but when she had turned and looked again as she was being marched back, neither of her family members were there.

If something had happened to him…

“Please, Bo.” Satine could feel another cough building and heat behind her eyes, and she was furious at herself that Bo had to see her like this, but she needed to know. “Is… is he…?”

“He’s alright, Satine.” 

Okay. Satine wasn’t drowning anymore. She was coughing, but she could blame that for the watery eyes.

“Define ‘alright’.”

Bo’s sigh through the helmet sounded less harsh than usual. “He’s at a safehouse somewhere in the city. The bastard that hit him broke his jaw, so he’s recovering from that. He will be alright.”

Satine flinched at Bo’s monotone report of Korkie’s injuries. “Broken jaw. Stars, he never should have been involved in the first place.”

Bo’s grip on Satine’s arm tightened substantially. “Don’t you do that. Don’t go blaming the pipsqueak’s bruises on me. I didn’t choose to involve him, he hunted me down and refused to leave unless I let him help. He made his own choices.”

Satine ran a hand over her face because yes, that did sound exactly like her curious Korkie and his special talent of seeking out the quickest way to get in over his head. Also, she needed to stop snapping at her rescuer. She needed to stop snapping at her sister. “I see. Thank you for keeping him safe.”

Bo made another strange noise through the helmet and oh how Satine wished she would take it off so she could see her face. “The kid was never the one I had the problem with.”

“I had hoped not.” Satine had always known that her sister’s gruff affection towards the baby had overridden her complaints over Satine taking in their orphaned, distant cousin, but that didn’t change that when Bo had walked out, she had left two broken hearts behind, and Satine honestly didn’t know if she could ever forgive her for that.

Bo said nothing more as the group flew onwards.

Satine shot another glance at where Anakin hung limp between his two bearers to make sure he hadn’t been dropped, and regretted it when it gave her the perfect view of the world below her. In a flash, a housing complex went up in flames. 

“Keep in formation,” Bo snapped at her, pulling at her arm. Satine realized that she had basically been letting herself be towed along the entire way.

“The city,” Satine got out, unable to look away from her world below her on fire. Hospitals, schools, parks. Everything was burning as warriors swooped in and out of the smoke. Everywhere she turned, bodies were falling, and with Bo’s viselike grip still on her arm, suddenly this could very well be twenty years ago in the twilight of the Civil War.

_So much destruction. Everyone’s falling apart because no one will understand. No one will listen. I was supposed to fix this. This was never supposed to happen again…_

“This is nothing compared to outside the dome,” Bo said, and Satine wanted to scream at her for the nothingness in her voice. _You fought me for so long, when all I wanted to avoid was_ this. _Well now you have it. Is this what you wanted, Bo Katan? Anarchy? Say something!_

“Is there anything left?” was what came out of her mouth.

“We’re almost to the dome entrance,” Bo reported, either not hearing her or ignoring her.. “Keep your guard up.”

Satine was leaving all of this, leaving her people to suffer. Duchess of peace, trailing destruction and death behind her.

A flash of red shot right by her ear and Satine faltered in flight, distracted by her thoughts. Bo tugged at her arm. “Hurry up! There’s the exit.”

Their group dove through the main tunnel unhindered by the massive blockade Satine and Anakin had faced earlier— launching an exploding speederbike at it must have done at least some good. —in favor of the outer blast doors at the end of the tunnel now sealed shut. Satine cast another look at Anakin as they landed, the two soldiers thankfully still holding him up. They were putting him down now, but that was only to join the defensive line of Bo’s soldiers as Death Watch landed in the other entrance and started shooting at them.

Bo ducked a shot. “We’re sitting mynocks until we can get the outer blast doors open. I need the Darksaber.”

Satine shrunk away as Bo held her hand out for it. She couldn’t help it. Sister or not, Bo had been trying to kill Satine and remove her from the throne on the regular up until a week ago. She couldn’t just give the symbol of the Mand’alor to her.

Bo took her helmet off to look Satine directly in the eye. “I get you don’t trust me, but do you trust that I don’t want to die here either? I need that to get the door open.”

“What’s your plan after?” Satine asked her. She had to know, and she’d know if Bo lied.

Bo pursed her lips, breaking eye contact. Satine found the barest trace of grim satisfaction. She had always been the stronger debater of the two. “I’ve called a ship,” Bo said. “It’ll take you and the _Jetii_ out of here.”

She was telling the truth. A bolt pinged off Satine’s arm bracer, and she stumbled with a gasp that turned into another cough.

“You should really get that looked at,” Bo commented, and Satine glared at her, making a decision and handing the Darksaber over. Bo plucked it lightly out of her fingers, not even sparing a moment to turn around again and slash at the control panels. Satine took cover behind her.

“So you’re staying here?” Satine asked.

Bo snorted. “Someone has to.” She gave a soft “ha,” as the blast doors started to open, handing back the still-lit saber to Satine without as much looking at it in her hand. Satine took it, peering out over the carnage that emerged from the rising doors, the sky blackened with smoke, a ship careening into the ground in a violent explosion, more and more soldiers, more and more _Mandalorians_ dropping like flies as blaster bolts lit up the frenzy. She could feel her grip on the saber tightening as the full extent of her failure stretched out before her.

“Told you it was worse on the outside,” Bo said. 

“Thank you, Bo,” Satine hissed at her. 

The rest of the Nite Owls streamed past them, returning fire over their shoulders into the tunnel. Bo tensed, firing off some shots of her own and reaching for Satine’s arm again. “Come on. Your ride out will be here soon.”

Satine froze. “Wait. Not without—“

“Him?” Bo finished, pointing to where the two soldiers were once again towing Anakin along. Satine’s relief only lasted a moment before one of the figures caught a blast right in the back and went down. The other dropped Anakin and moved to start returning fire.

“No!” Satine took off staggering towards the fallen form, ignoring Bo’s cry of exasperation behind her. The smoke that filled the landing strip was not improving the situation with her lungs, and as she crashed to Anakin’s side, a particularly fierce bout of coughing overwhelmed her. Pushing through the pain, she regrabbed Anakin’s arms and began to pull— only for the load to lighten when Bo materialized at her side, taking part of the dead weight herself and glaring at Satine.

“This is only because we don’t need the Republic after us for a dead Jedi,” Bo warned. “He better still be alive, Sati.”

Satine nearly fumbled her grip at Bo’s usage of the family nickname she hadn’t heard in years. “He’ll make it,” she promised, willing the words to speak the sentiment into reality. “His kind does not die easily.”

Bo’s other hand shot out to shove Satine’s head down, and she felt the burn of heat as a blaster bolt just missed her neck. “You aren’t his kind, keep your guard up. Almec will be even more frantic to keep you here now, they’ll fight us every step of the way.”

Satine sniffed at the mention of him. “That blast through the window may have dealt with him at least momentarily. I’m more concerned about when Maul wakes up.”

Bo halted in her tracks, fixing Satine with a horrible look. “What do you mean, ‘when Maul wakes up’? Are you telling me he’s still alive?”

“Unfortunately,” Satine admitted, smelling a fight incoming. “Anakin… incapacitated him, and then I stunned him and his brother and left.”

_”Stun?”_ Bo snarled. “You’re telling me that after all of this happened, all of this, you still couldn’t ditch your idiotic thrice-damned principles, not even to get rid of those monsters for good?”

Satine felt her own temper flaring. “My ‘idiotic principles’,” she spit. “Are all I have left. The society I spent twenty years slaving to build is burning around us. My people I was supposed to protect are under the heel of savages. The _Jetii—_” _Turned their backs on their morals. Abandoned us. Stole my heart._ “—are so under the Republic’s thumb they cannot even do their damned job to save us from a saber-wielding maniac. Do not lecture me on principles, Bo. I will hold onto whatever power I still have so I can make things right, and my principles are part of that.”

“You speak of pacifist principles, and yet now you claim that?” Bo jabbed a finger at the Darksaber. 

No, she was not doing this defending her rights argument again. “The blade should be held by the leader of our people,” Satine said coldly. “I thought your whole point in rescuing me was that we agreed I did a better job than Maul.”

“He shouldn’t have had it in the first place to give it to you! It belonged to Pre!” Bo shot back.

“I _gave_ it to Pre!” Satine’s rage and tiredness at the entire situation was simmering to a boil, and maybe that was why she said what she did next. “And anyway, I thought I murdered him? Shouldn’t that make this mine won by blood?”

She took a perverse sort of pleasure in seeing Bo’s confident sneer crumble into something a lot more uncomfortable, breaking their locked gazes to look out at the destruction. “I wasn’t the one who said you killed Pre,” Bo said quietly. “I had split with Maul by then.”

“Oh no, little sister, you were just the one who told our people I ran like a _hut’uun_ and abandoned them.” The crack in Satine’s voice spawned more coughing, and when she looked up from her hunched over position, Bo’s face had grown pinched and angry as it always did when she was on the defensive. Satine was still angrier though, she realized, and she couldn’t quite let it go yet. “They played the speeches over the speakers in the prison. I know it was you.”

“Well— you as good as abandoned our people years ago!” Bo threw out, cheeks flushed red. “When you decided to destroy millenniums of our history for the sake of your pride! When you forced your radical beliefs on all of us! It was about time the people knew that! I’m glad you heard the truth too!”

“Yes, now the people know the ‘truth’” Satine growled. “How lovely. I’m sure that entirely truthful viewpoint won’t be of any sort of influence on them when they are asked to choose between myself or _Maul—_ a monster whom, by the way, you and darling Pre were the ones to unleash upon our world in the first place!”

Bo went white, but Satine kept talking. “I truly do hope you are happy with your decision, and I thank you for freeing me during all of this mess. Now I get to journey to the Republic, hand them back their half-dead Jedi, and prostrate myself before their pompous Senate and _beg_ them to consider helping us. What do you think I will have to promise them in return? What do you think they have in mind for our world? If you wish for me to have any chance of fixing our situation at all, I would highly suggest you rethink exactly what the public’s ‘truth’ about me should be!”

Satine finished her spiel with another hacking cough directly in Bo’s face, her own face feeling suspiciously cold with something. Bo hadn’t even looked at her. A beeping noise sounded and Bo’s green eyes darted to her wrist comm. “That should be the ship,” she said.

_Of course,_ Satine did not say. _Ignore everything I say, because you can never admit I’m right._

White spotlights streamed out of the battlefield haze, revealing the shape of a small ship touching down on the end of the landing pad. With a tug, Bo started dragging Anakin in its direction, Satine struggling to keep up. The boarding ramp lowered and a single Nite Owl stood at the edge, shooting over the two sisters’ shoulders at the pursuing Death Watch troops. Bo dropped Anakin at the edge of the ramp, turning to kneel and give cover fire as Satine began the awful task of trying to drag Anakin’s weight up the ramp by herself.

“I understand you’re headed to Coruscant,” Bo called to Satine over the laser fire. “But I would recommend you stop at the nearest neutral medical station so he doesn’t die on you.”

“Noted,” Satine replied, only half-listening and still trying not to split her chest in half while not letting Anakin slide back down the ramp.

Bo threw a hand grenade in the direction of a clump of soldiers and marched halfway up the ramp to start pushing while Satine pulled. “I may have freed you,” she said quietly, barely audible over the din. “But I will never agree with you or what you’ve done.” Now it was Bo’s turn to cut Satine’s attempt at reply off. “No, Satine. You can point your finger at us all you want, but you had something like this coming for a while. When you get to the Republic, I suggest you consider some kind of attitude adjustment, because no matter how this all turns out, I promise you that Mandalore will not and cannot return to how you were running it before.”

Now she met Satine’s eyes again, that vibrant green that seemed to be the only thing from the Kryze side of the family she inherited besides the name. Satine refused to falter under those eyes again. “You always did—“ A cough cut her off. “You always did break your promises.”

Bo gave a final shove and Satine and Anakin passed over the edge of the ramp onto the ship. “Not this time. Goodbye, Your Grace.”

She turned back around and Satine could only watch speechless as her baby sister walked away, the royal title sounding even worse when Bo said it than when Anakin did.

A clicking motion above her head had Satine whirling around with an alarmed coughing fit, only relaxing upon seeing the Nite Owl that had been shooting over their heads during the struggle up the ramp. When the door on Satine’s fractured world closed, the fighter pressed a hand to their helmet and barked to commence takeoff. Satine could feel the rumble of the ship that meant it was rising. 

“Thank you for flying me— us out of here,” Satine told them, unable to forego manners even now. “My companion is injured.” _Not dead, not dead, he is not dead. I can feel his chest movements…_ “Could you please take us to the nearest neutral med-center?”

“We can do that,” the soldier said. “From there, you’ll want to find your own ride to wherever you’re going though. Our organization isn’t exactly welcome in Republic space.”

“That is fine,” Satine replied. “You’re doing more than enough now.”

“Take a seat in the back,” the guard told her. Satine faltered, clutching Anakin tighter, now that she was on the floor again she did not feel like she could get back up. The soldier sighed. “Oh, for First’s sake.” They bent down and picked Anakin up themself, walking into the back seating area and placing him on the bench while Satine hobbled after them.

The ship rumbled, and a bark from the cockpit to _get up there!_ had the figure swearing. “Strap yourselves in,” they commanded Satine. “We won’t be leaving without attention.”

Satine nodded and crawled into a seat while they disappeared around the corner and into the cockpit. She took the time as the ship started to rumble and jerk to examine Anakin’s face. Mainly smooth, though she detected worry lines starting to grow around his mouth and forehead— tragic, considering she swore accounts from Obi Wan and Padmé had said he wasn’t older than twenty-three. Of course, the lines were hard to see over the smear of blood running down from his increasingly swollen nose and upper palate where Maul had kicked him. There was a jagged scar that bisected an eyelid, and his hair was a mess. Still, even in death, she could see how others found him beautiful. 

Not death, she corrected herself frantically, fumbling for his neck and almost crying in relief when she found the weakest of pulses. He was not dead. Not yet. Another shuddering cough split her chest and she forced herself to lean back in her seat and relax before she herself died of stress. She could feel the familiar hum starting to vibrate through the ship that meant there was an incoming jump to hyperspace. There was the hooking jolt in her gut as gravity shifted and—

It was then the ship careened sideways with the force of the explosion. Satine’s head knocked against the wall, sending her into a momentary blackout.

* * *

When she awoke, she was still in the back of the ship, albeit one much smokier than it had been to start— and completely dark. Thank the stars, she had strapped Anakin in enough he hadn’t gotten knocked around. 

_The pilots!_ Satine thought in alarm, struggling to remove her belt and make her way to the cockpit.

The second she moved, she regretted it. She felt a sensation not unlike a balloon being deflated inside her chest, and in a rush, all the air was knocked out of her and _everything_ hurt more intensely than it ever had before. Gasping to breathe, she suddenly had to cough like she would die otherwise. Almost blacking out again from the pain doing so induced, she retched in alarm as droplets of red scattered onto the floor— how did she end up on the floor?

She couldn’t move. She absolutely could not move, she could barely breathe. 

_Help,_ she tried to call, but all that came out of her mouth was a wheezing whine. The pilots were either no longer in the ship, or absolutely not alright, judging how all the smoke was appearing to roll directly from the cockpit. The smoke irritated her lungs, which meant more coughing, which meant more red on the floor, mixing with her sweat sticking her cheek to it.

She couldn’t move. She didn’t know where they were or what happened. They were alone.

Another cough dislodged a tear from her eye. She let it fall as a sense of total hopelessness washed over her. She had done her best. She had tried. Now she was done.

From her position on the floor, she had a view of Anakin slumped across the bench above her, rag still wound around his waist, hair spilled over his face, golden eyes staring directly at her—

Wait.

_”Two red blades… he’s coming…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there we are! Sorry for the late update, mental health was a big ol' buttface this month ;p That being said, I did very little editing to this chapter so if there's any mistakes, I'm sorry but I haven't had the spoons to fix them yet.
> 
> Also sorry that the main romantic characters have been separated for this long, I can tell everyone that next chapter will FINALLY introduce Padmé into the story and things'll start picking up from there.
> 
> For now, I really really really hope everyone liked my headcanons I made about Satine's past and her family and stuff! (apologies to any Korkie Kenobi fans for killing your theory in this lol) Her dynamic with Bo Katan is really fun to write!
> 
> Anyway, please yell at me in the comments! I'll try and get the next chapter out a little faster!!!


	7. Padmé

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait!

Ahsoka woke to screaming and darkness and the horrific image of her Master impaled on a sliver of blood-red light burning behind her eyelids.

Gulping for air, she took in her surroundings, relaxing slightly at the familiar shadows of her own bedroom, faintly lit by the blush of early dawn creeping in through the window. Releasing the bedsheets she had crumpled into fists, Ahsoka took a last steadying breath, trying to release all her panic into the Force so she could think rationally.

In return, the Force stabbed at her with insistent alarm. _Something’s wrong, something’s wrong, very very very wrong…_

Ahsoka grit her teeth, swatting it away. She needed to think.

_Something is_ wrong.

“Okay, okay, fine!” Huffing, Ahsoka focused on her training bond with Anakin. The best way to get rid of that horrible vision of him dying in front of her was to assure herself he was perfectly alright. She had had these dreams before, she had seen Padmé getting shot, and she had— well, she had prevented her death, anyway. If this was something that was to happen to Anakin in the future…

Ahsoka gasped, mind recoiling from the frigid block of ice trailing faintly from where her Master’s usual comforting warmth would be. Bracing herself, she tried again, casting her mind across the roiling sea of the Force to try and connect, only to ram straight into that unnatural coldness again, sending shivers up her spine in all the wrong ways possible.

Feeling that surge of panic again, Ahsoka squashed it frantically. This wasn’t like her dreams of Padmé’s future, her Master was in danger now.

But from what?

He was not dead, she told herself fiercely. He wasn’t. This wasn’t how a Master’s death felt like, she knew, she had wheedled that information out of Master Obi Wan in the aftermath of the Hardeen incident, still more than a bit upset with him over it and determined not to be deceived again. Maybe it was guilt, maybe it was something else, but he had complied easily enough, saying quietly how when one half of a Force Bond died suddenly, the unnatural splitting of it was painful to the surviving half, leading to lingering psychic bleed-through and the horrible heavy feeling of _knowing_ that your missing half was never coming back.

Ahsoka’s dream had contained some pain, yes, but it was distant, not her own, and swirled in with panic and a range of other emotions.

No, her Master was not dead, but something awful had happened to him.

Stumbling out of bed, she moved over to where she had tossed her commlink in a heap with her dirty clothing the night before, removing it from the clothing pile with trembling fingers. She checked it. One new message from Barriss— likely grumbling about being off-planet and unable to go out with the friend group last night, Ahsoka would have to get back to her, one new message from Master Obi Wan, that was interesting, but nothing new from Skyguy.

Heart sinking and already knowing what the answer was going to be, Ahsoka tried his comm, but sure enough after waiting for what felt like a lifetime, she got the beeps signaling to leave a message. Too frazzled to leave one, she tossed the commlink at her bed in frustrated rage. The device bounced off her wall before landing on her bed and lighting up blue. Ahsoka was ready to storm over and turn it off again, hesitating upon seeing Anakin’s familiar face as his last message to her she had only vaguely listened to the night before played out.

He was going to Mandalore, he said, with Senator Amidala. This was an off the record favor, he told her, much like hers to Riyo had been, so if she could not let the Council know unless absolutely necessary, that would be best. 

_I shouldn’t be gone for more than a day or two, Snips,_ Anakin’s recording told her, smiling guiltily in that way Ahsoka knew meant he was keeping something from her and thought he was hiding it. _Stay out of trouble until I get back, yeah?_

The figure flickered away, and Ahsoka growled at him in frustration. _Of course he tries to run off with his secret wife for a romantic getaway and gets in over his head immediately. What were he and Padmé thinking?_

She sobered immediately at the thought. Padmé. While she would say she knew the woman well enough that a romantic rendezvous wouldn’t be out of character for her, Ahsoka doubted Mandalore of all places would be the destination Padmé would pick. Neither would Anakin, for that matter. 

Clearing her head, Ahsoka started over, trying to look at the situation from a logical standpoint. Anakin and Padmé were apparently going to Mandalore because Padmé had business there. Padmé was friends with Duchess Satine, so that made some sense. Why she had chosen to bring Anakin with her for this was a bit more confusing; for all that he talked about her and not-so-subtly speculated on her relationship with Master Obi Wan, Ahsoka wasn’t aware of her Master knowing the Duchess that well at all. Why Padmé would take him instead of someone like Master Obi Wan himself, Ahsoka couldn’t figure out.

Wait. Skyguy had specified this was off the books, that the Council shouldn’t know. That made it a bit clearer then, if the Council had wanted to stay out of things but Padmé wanted a Jedi with her anyway, her husband who would do anything for her would be the logical choice to take—

And now Padmé would be in danger too, damn it all, she hadn’t even thought of that—

Ahsoka fumbled for her commlink, doing what should have been the obvious and bringing up Padmé’s comm. If Anakin hadn’t responded, chances were good she wouldn’t either since they were together, but Ahsoka hadn’t seen Padmé in her dream, so just maybe…

Ahsoka nearly collapsed in relief when Padmé’s face appeared in front of her, only for suspicion to near immediately take over as she noticed that Padmé did not seem concerned in the slightest.

* * *

Padmé was growing tired. 

She had been back on Naboo for the past two weeks, constantly on her feet helping to assist the newly-coronated Queen Apailana and her government during the transitional period. Once she had finally made it back to Coruscant, the post-election chaos still wasn’t over, as she was responsible for hosting one last party of her own for the new members of the Queen’s staff that would be assuming positions on the capital planet nearly the moment they arrived. Her own Senatorial position was still secured, of course, the Queen had called her to ask her to stay on before even bringing up the invitation to come and help with things back home.

Padmé’s cruiser had landed on planet yesterday at 1900 hours and her first guests were at the private event hall at 2200. The wining and dining had been ongoing throughout the night and now in the early hours of the morning only a couple of people had made any motions towards leaving.

At the moment, the Nubian Foreign Minister was telling the senator from Corellia a drunken story and Padmé was only half-paying attention to what was being said, laughing when expected to. She took a sip from her sparkling drink— she hadn’t touched any alcohol in hours and was scanning the room distractedly before her wrist comm— helpfully disguised as a fancy bracelet —buzzed insistently.

She frowned. She had set the comm as to only alert her if someone was using her emergency frequency and needed her immediate attention, so with a quick excuse, Padmé was removing herself from the conversation and hurrying out of the main room and around a corner down the hall to answer.

When she hit the connection button, Padmé was surprised and quickly worried to see Ahsoka frowning back at her.

_Weren’t she and Anakin supposed to be on a mission?_

“Ahsoka?”

“Senator! Has something happened? Are you alright?”

Ahsoka’s holoprojection was wearing what looked like a nightgown and her face was open and fearful, and Padmé had absolutely no clue what had the girl so agitated, or why she needed to call Padmé about it. “Yes, Ahsoka, I’m fine— but I can see you aren’t. What’s wrong?”

Padmé’s response only seemed to aggravate Ahsoka further, running a hand down her lek in frustration. “You’re _fine?_ But no, that doesn’t— Look, is Master Anakin with you right now? I need to speak with him.”

A pit formed in Padmé’s stomach, curdling and dark. “Anakin’s not with me, Ahsoka. I haven’t seen him in over two weeks. Are you saying you don’t know where he is?” She could feel her voice rising on the last words, and hurriedly checked to make sure there wasn’t anyone overhearing her conversation.

Ahsoka had gone still as death. “He left last night, sent me a message saying he had gone with _you_ to Mandalore,” she whispered.

“I just returned from two weeks on Naboo last night, I’ve been at a social event ever since.” Padmé tried to keep an even tone, not wanting any panic to come across and further upset Ahsoka. “I haven’t been checking my comms often, but I distinctly remember a short message from him saying you two were being sent on a recon flight near the Mandalore system.”

“I haven’t even seen Master since yesterday afternoon,” Ahsoka said miserably. “I don’t know why he’d lie to me about where he was.”

_And I don’t know why he would lie to_ me, Padmé thought darkly, forcing her worries to the side in the face of Ahsoka’s obvious distress. “Have you talked to the Jedi Council?” she asked. “Maybe they sent him somewhere secret, they can at least assure you that he’s okay.” _It wouldn’t be the first time they had someone lie to their loved ones…_ a bitter little voice in the back of Padmé’s head pointed out.

Ahsoka was already shaking her head though. “No, Master specifically said in his message not to get the Council involved unless strictly necessary. He said it was a personal favor to you.”

“Well, it wasn’t,” Padmé said shortly, biting her tongue at Ahsoka’s wince. This wasn’t her fault. It was Anakin’s for running off on some private whim and scaring his family. “Do you think he’s even on Mandalore like he said?” she asked. For all they knew, he could be anywhere.

“I do,” Ahsoka responded instantly. “I’m positive that much is true. He told us both where he was going— the same location —for a trip he was clearly trying to keep secret. That means he wants someone to know where to find him if things… if they go wrong.”

Padmé caught the wobble in Ahsoka’s voice towards the end, that brief grimace, and remembered how frantic the girl was when she first called. The pit in her stomach grew even deeper. “Do you have reason to believe something did go wrong?”

“I had a dream—“ Ahsoka started, cutting herself off abruptly with a furtive look at Padmé. “Look, it’s nothing to be too concerned about, I’m just worried I can’t find him.”

No, Padmé wasn’t having any of the Jedi Business Only deflections. “If you didn’t want me to be concerned, you shouldn’t have told me anything,” she informed Ahsoka, who was looking increasingly guilty. “You said you had a dream. What kind of dream? Was it like the one you had that saved my life?” _Like the ones he had about his mother’s death?_ she thought anxiously.

Ahsoka hesitated, making a face, and Padmé knew. “It’s nothing, really,” she began, halting tone betraying her words. “I just had the feeling he’s in trouble—“

“Right,” Padmé decided, the confirmation that her husband was in danger all she needed to set her course of action. “Then we need to find him and get him out of trouble.”

“Wait, what?” Ahsoka straightened up in alarm. “Hang on— Padmé, no! You can’t get involved, this is Jedi stuff! Stang, I shouldn’t have even called you, I should be contacting a Master—“

“You and the Jedi can do what you like,” Padmé informed her, walking down the hallway towards the room with the private data terminal. “I’m still going to look for Anakin.” Padmé wasn’t ignorant enough to think that Ahsoka wasn’t at least aware that there was _something_ going on between her and Anakin. Therefore, she should also know Padmé well enough to realize that she never stood by while someone she cared about needed help. 

“You don’t need to, though!”

“Yes, I think I do.”

Thankfully, the data room was empty, and Padmé slipped in and closed the door. “Don’t hang up on me just yet, Ahsoka, I’ve got an idea.”

Ahsoka was glaring at her. “Yes?”

Padmé smiled back sunnily. “Firstly, assuming that Anakin is on Mandalore, we need to find out why he would go there and why it would need to be secret,” Padmé told her. “Can you think of a reason?”

“I’ve already run through the possibilities,” Ahsoka sighed. “And honestly, I’m stumped. He doesn’t really know anyone there, and I can’t think of something they would have that he would want. They don’t even like Jedi over there!”

“I agree,” Padmé murmured, racking her brain for something that might motivate her unpredictable husband to go to Mandalore of all places. Ahsoka was right that the population was hardly Jedi-friendly… though their Duchess certainly was, going off of everything Padmé had managed to get out of her friend about a certain Jedi in particular.

_Oh._

Padmé was a fool.

As casually as she could, she asked, “Ahsoka, have you spoken to Master Kenobi about all of this yet?”

“He was the next person I was going to talk to,” Ahsoka said. “I only called you first because Master said you were together.”

“Hmm.” Padmé thought for a moment, suspicion mounting. “Do you know if he’s around?”

Ahsoka cocked her head for a second, and Padmé guessed she was reaching into the Force. “I don’t think he’s on planet right now, no.” Ahsoka’s face lit up. “Do you… do you think he’s with Master Anakin? Or at least knows what’s going on?”

From the odd, hesitant look in Ahsoka’s eyes, Padmé guessed that Ahsoka was likely no further in the dark about whatever Obi Wan and Satine were than she was about Padmé’s own relationship. Either she was remarkably observant, or that lineage of hers was remarkably bad at keeping anything personal from one another.

Both. Definitely both, who was she kidding?

Biting back the urge to laugh and confuse Ahsoka, Padmé told her, “I think it’s very likely. You of all people know how those two are. If anyone in the galaxy knew what Anakin was getting up to…”

It made a disturbing amount of sense as well. If Mandalore had any reason to need Jedi, Padmé knew Satine would contact Obi Wan, and if Obi Wan needed help dealing with something on Mandalore…

Padmé’s brain flashed back to Anakin bursting through her door after returning from Mandalore and blurting out the entire tale of his Master’s newly-revealed feelings for the Duchess.

Anakin’s head in her lap after he had pestered out of her every bit of information she knew about Satine, musing about what could possibly be so special about her to get Obi Wan’s attention.

The Satine discussion spawning their next repeating debate on whether or not to tell Obi Wan about their marriage— and said debate coming the closest one had ever been to Anakin agreeing to it.

How two years later and Satine still came up when Anakin was going on his rants about Obi Wan and his relationship with him.

Needless to say, Padmé wouldn’t put it past Anakin to invite himself along even if Obi Wan didn’t need any help.

“You’ve got a point,” Ahsoka told her. “My only thing is, Master doesn’t want the Council involved. Master Obi Wan _is_ the Council, why would he be part of something that went against them?”

Damn but that was a fair point. There was one thing that both Anakin and Satine agreed on if both of their various rants to Padmé meant anything, and that was that Obi Wan Kenobi played strictly, frustratingly, by the rules.

Obi Wan wasn’t perfect, however…

“He might, if he had the proper motivation,” Padmé wondered aloud. “How about this, I’ve got the Holonet right here, I can see if anything interesting has happened on Mandalore that could convince your Masters to take an unsanctioned trip.”

Ahsoka acquiesced with a jerky nod, still looking uncomfortable with involving Padmé at all, which, far too late for that. Padmé tried to give her an assuring smile and pulled up the search function on the data terminal. It took her a few minutes of refined searching, but she finally made it to the local Mandalorian news outlets. 

At first, Padmé thought the search was going haywire, seeing the top headlines containing the words “Prime Minister Almec”; those articles must be over two years out of date. When the articles revealed the publishing dates to all be either today or yesterday or sometime in the past week was when Padmé started getting concerned. “What in the hells,” she murmured, scrolling through and clicking on the news source she knew to be reputable. 

“Padmé?” Ahsoka was staring worriedly at her through the comm holo, unable to see what Padmé was pulling up from the angle the holorecorder had been set down, but Padmé was barely paying attention, staring at horror at what she was reading in front of her.

_…Former Duchess Satine imprisoned for murder…_

_...Vizsla’s week-long rule as true Mand’alor…_

_…Minister Almec assures Sundari recent violence is only last threads of the traitorous Duchess’s supporters…_

_…On Pre Vizsla: Coup or Salvation…_

_…What will happen to deposed Duchess now?…_

Padmé emerged back to reality at Ahsoka’s repeated calling of her name, her head spinning in shock. This couldn’t be happening. Not to Satine. 

“I need to go to Mandalore,” Padmé said, words surprising her but knowing immediately that it was the right decision. 

“Why?” Ahsoka demanded. “Padmé, what is—“

“Satine’s government has been overthrown,” Padmé managed, falling back on Queenly training to get the words out smoothly. “She’s now in prison for apparently murdering Pre Vizsla, who overthrew her, and now Mandalore is controlled by Vizsla’s appointed successor, Almec.”

Ahsoka stared at her like she had suddenly sprouted a second head, which, given what Padmé had just told her, was an appropriate reaction. “So what you’re telling me is that the _pacifist_ Duchess is in trouble for _killing_ a literal terrorist, and now everyone wants to listen to a child-poisoner instead?”

Padmé snorted despite herself; Ahsoka was definitely Anakin’s apprentice. “Exactly. And we both know Satine didn’t kill anyone, she could never.”

“Yeah, but does anyone else seem to know that?”

“Apparently not, as the news consensus is that soon she’ll be tried and executed.” A wave of bile rose in Padmés throat. She had lost so many friends already to this cursed war, she couldn’t lose another, not so soon. “I’m going to Mandalore,” Padmé repeated, shutting off the data terminal and moving from the room, heading for the lifts that would take her to the building exit. She could make excuses for her abrupt disappearance later. Polite society could wait.

Ahsoka was spluttering over the comm. “Hold on a click, no you aren’t!”

Padmé hardly spared her a raised brow. “Am I not, Padawan Tano?”  
“No, because you can’t! Pardon me, but this is crazy! If all that you read is true, Mandalore’s probably going to be a warzone; it’s way too risky for you to go. You should take this to the Council or the Senate, I can go with—“

“Anakin needs help now, doesn’t he?” Padmé countered, stepping into the lift. “If he’s there, he doesn’t have time for the Senate to deliberate.”

“If _he’s_ stuck there, what chance do you have?” Ahsoka shot back. “I’m not trying to be offensive, but my Master is one of the best in the Order; if Master Obi Wan is with him, they _are_ the best, and if they got into trouble, that means it’s really bad!”

“So you’re just going to sit back and wait, then?” Padmé challenged.

“Of course not, he’s my Master!” Ahsoka protested. “But I’m a Jedi, it’s my job! You’re a civilian, it’s different!”

“_I_ am a member of the Republic Senate,” Padmé snapped, stepping out of the lift and heading towards the doors. A service droid started upon seeing her and hurried off to fetch her speeder. “While the Jedi as of now serve and represent the Republic, they are still legally a separate institution. If one was to go to a neutral system on their own and got injured and killed, said neutral system would be able to argue their rights to detain the Jedi as they were not there on Republic business and therefore acting on their own and responsible for their own actions. Any Jedi solo efforts to retrieve their colleague could be seen as an act of war as the neutral planet did not officially act against them. If I were to go, as an elected Republic official, any planet would be required to be hospitable to me as I represent the Republic at all times and an attack on me is an attack on the government and a potential declaration of war. Unless this new Mandalorian government wishes to ally themselves with the Separatists, provoking the Republic would not be in their best interests. They would have to at least speak to me.”

Ahsoka looked at her balefully. “What, so you’re going to just go and _ask_ them if they’ve got a missing Jedi lying around and if they wouldn’t mind not killing Duchess Satine?”

_Anakin’s apprentice,_ Padmé reminded herself, knowing that most of Ahsoka’s snark was at heart disguised worry. “Diplomacy is part of my job, you do realize. So no, I’m not going to ‘just go and ask them’. I’ll request a meeting with the new leadership to discuss their intentions regarding their relationship with the Republic as well as being up humanitarian concerns, if the fighting there is as bad as the media says. I’ll figure out how to get any Jedi as well as Satine out as I go.”

Padmé was a little offended that after all of this Ahsoka still didn’t look reassured. Didn’t she teach her anything? “You’re going to request a meeting with Almec, the guy whose poison drink ring you were personally responsible for busting? You think he’ll speak to you?”

“I have to try,” Padmé responded, stepping into her speeder and ordering the driver back to her apartments.

“I really don’t think this is wise of you to go alone.” Ahsoka’s voice sounded desperate. Padmé took some pity on her. “You’re more than welcome to come along with me.”

“That doesn’t make things better!” Ahsoka paused for a moment before seemingly bracing herself to say something. “We both know how Anakin gets about you,” she said eventually. “If I let anything happen to you, he’ll kill me!”

Padmé winced. Now was not the time to have The Secret Marriage Conversation with Ahsoka. “No matter how he _gets_, he should know by now to respect my autonomy and ability to make my own decisions.”

“Yeah, but you won’t be able to remind him of that if you’re dead. And I won’t be able to remind him because he is going to kill me!”

_Anakin’s overdramatic apprentice..._ “Forgive me Ahsoka, but right now the one I’m worried about dying is Anakin himself,” Padmé told her. “I’m sorry that it worries you, but I will be leaving for Mandalore as soon as I return home.”

“Wait, now? And you’re going in that?” Ahsoka questioned, staring at Padmé’s tight, feathery black evening dress. Padmé couldn’t help but smile.

“Rest assured, I have a change of clothes on my ship. I’m going to hang up now, and I suggest you try and contact Master Kenobi.”

“But—“

“Thank you for telling me Ahsoka, truly,” Padmé said earnestly, closing the comm on Ahsoka’s troubled face and refusing to feel guilty about it.

Her brain reminded her of what felt like forever but was actually a little less than four years ago, an argument with Anakin on Tatooine over whether or not she should involve herself in rescuing _his_ Master.

Her brain also reminded her that that had resulted in all three of them getting captured, the Republic being forced to swoop in and rescue them, and the start of the civil war.

Padmé shook her head. It wasn’t like they were dealing with a Sith Lord with a hidden agenda this time. This was just one planet— one very dangerous planet, yes, but still, one planet that was between her and her husband. Between her and her dear friend. Between her and possibly Obi Wan? Padmé didn’t like not knowing where the latter was at all, it was not like him to be absent from this sort of crisis, especially when it involved Anakin—

Padmé cut herself off; she needed to stop with the worry or she would lose focus.

She drew back on her meditative techniques learned when constructing the mask of Queen Amidala, that ability to completely remove oneself emotionally from a situation and allow the Queen to view things with a logical, pragmatic eye that Padmé Naberrie’s bleeding heart always got in the way of.

Padmé was able to dissociate slightly on the flight back to her apartments. Upon arrival, she was relieved to see her ship landed on the roof and ready to go. She directed the speeder to the rooftop and stepped out, hitching her skirt and walking quickly to meet Captain Typho, who was frowning in concern.

“Your ship is ready, ma’am, though you do have a visitor. Forgive me for letting her in unordered, but she did say it was urgent business.” Somehow his words didn’t surprise Padmé in the least, and the sight of Ahsoka Tano appearing from behind the ship with an equally concerned frown surprised her even less.

“Not an issue, Captain,” Padmé told him pleasantly. “You’re dismissed.” 

Typho was a smart man who had known Padmé a very, very long time, and his slightly-accusing stare he gave her as he walked off let her know that he was aware she was up to something, but no longer in the authority to do anything about it.

Padmé turned to Ahsoka with a quirked brow. 

“Are you positive you’re going?” Ahsoka asked tiredly

“I am. Is your plan to try and stop me?”

“Is there any way I could without actually fighting you?”

“No.”

Ahsoka gave a put-upon sigh, and oh yes, she was Obi Wan’s apprentice too, Padmé thought with amusement.

“Then since I can’t stop you, I’m going with you,” Ahsoka declared, jutting our her chin in challenge. “You did say I was welcome to come along.”

“I did,” Padmé agreed, now remembering uneasily that for all Ahsoka worried about Anakin’s reaction if Padmé were injured, he would be the exact same way, maybe even worse, if Padmé let any harm come to his apprentice. Not that that mattered, as there would be no way Padmé would ever forgive herself.

“Do you have Temple permission?” Padmé had to ask.

“Nope,” Ahsoka replied, popping the P.

“Wonderful,” Padmé muttered, as she was now not only going off to interfere in a neutral system to try and save an accused murderer as well as her illegal Jedi husband, but she was also technically kidnapping a Padawan. Best not to let any of her colleagues know of this just yet.

Ahsoka held out her arm politely, gesturing to the ship’s ramp. “After you, milady.”

Padmé allowed herself an eyeroll, that cheek could be blamed on either of Ahsoka’s Masters, and took the proffered arm, gathering her dress and heading up the ramp. “Why, thank you.”

They worked in relative silence as they started up the ship and jetted out of the atmosphere. As Padmé made to plug in the hyperspace coordinates, Ahsoka raised a hand to stop her. 

“Before you do. I couldn’t get a response from Master Obi Wan when I called him, but he had left me a message earlier when I was sleeping.” She hesitated for a moment, as if bracing to give Padmé bad news. “He told me he was on a mission to Elul’i with Master Windu. I... I believe him, not just because he wasn’t in my dream I had about Master Anakin, but he also asked me in the message to check up on my Master, see how he was doing. He sounded concerned, in his subtle, Obi Wan-ish way. I think he sensed that something was wrong with Master too.”

Padmé paused, allowing herself a second to process the new information, plot out her next move. If Obi Wan wasn’t on Mandalore— if he was telling the truth —that removed Anakin’s main motive to be there. “Do you still think your Master is on Mandalore, Ahsoka?”

“That’s the thing, I do,” Ahsoka told her earnestly. “The more I think about it, the more _right_ it feels in the Force. We should still go there.”

“Satine needs someone to help her now anyway,” Padmé said, making up her mind. “Maybe it would be best if I left you on Coruscant, let you get more information to find exactly where Anakin is if he’s not on Mandalore and go out as soon as possible. It could be better to divide and conquer.” 

Ahsoka shook her head. “No, Skyguy always said it was best to stick together when possible. I’m with you, Padmé.”

Padmé exhaled. “Alright. If you’re sure.” Remarkably, her hand stayed steady as she set the navicomputer’s coordinates, fingers lingering one last time over the hyperdrive lever and gave Ahsoka another look.

Ahsoka’s eyes were closed in that way of Jedi concentration Padmé didn’t think she would ever understand. “Punch it,” Ahsoka said.

Padmé punched it.

Once they made the jump, the cabin was quiet for a few more moments save for the whispering hum of blue hyperspace swirling around them. Padmé needed something to do, distract herself from the long trip. She realized that with all the time they had right now, she might as well give Ahsoka The Secret Marriage Conversation, but the neurotic little instinct inside of her that had hoarded the secret desperately from anyone and everyone for the past couple of years hissed and snarled at the idea of letting it out, especially since Anakin had not been consulted first.

Instead, Padmé got up and clapped her hands. “As you mentioned on our call earlier, this dress is hardly the correct attire for our little mission. I’m going to the back to get changed. You’ll be fine up here?” Padmé was trying for teasing, but she truly was afraid for her loved ones and the smile she pulled on felt forced.

Ahsoka seemed to understand, giving her a comforting grin in return. “I’ll try not to crash us.” Padmé flinched and Ahsoka cringed. “Sorry, dark humor. You spend so long in the army...”

Padmé laughed, remembering almost sadly that this girl in front of her was a seasoned military officer, and that Padmé herself had ruled an entire planet at a much younger age. “I know. You’re as bad as your Master.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Ahsoka chirped, and Padmé pointed a mock-accusatory finger at her before turning and leaving the cockpit.

Once on her own, Padmé allowed herself to slump against the wall in exhaustion. She hadn’t even slept save for a brief doze on the flight back from Naboo _yesterday afternoon_, stars, it really was the following morning, wasn’t it? And now there was Anakin…

At heart, Padmé knew it was more than a bit foolish to get so instantly worked up over the mere mention of a dream from a Force Sensitive who wasn’t even fully trained. She couldn’t help it though. When one spent so long around those who could use the Force, when one didn’t have the slightest ability with it on their own, one grew to not only respect it and its power, but fear it more than a little as well, what it could do, what it saw, what it let happen. 

Maybe it was also a bit of Anakin’s paranoia wearing off on her, but in that Padmé was completely warranted. She was the one he came to with his fears, his nightmares, his stress. She had been there during the whole horrible time of his mother’s death. She would never be able to see anything as “just a dream”. 

No, that was a lie, Anakin didn’t just go to Padmé. She knew— and didn’t quite approve, but good luck telling him that —that he met with the Chancellor often, when he would come home spouting phrases and opinions that Padmé knew were not his own, that frightened her, that sounded an awful lot like the wording of her former most trusted advisor, who had been gradually sinking lower and lower in her opinion as she noticed more and more little things about Sheev Palpatine.

Anakin talked to Obi Wan too, or at least he used to. Padmé certainly encouraged him to, and now that she was thinking about Obi Wan and not focusing on things like hyperspace coordinates, Padmé realized that she was more than slightly irritated with the other man, and had been ever since she realized the Mandalore situation.

Was this irritation warranted? No, certainly not, Anakin was a grown man and Obi Wan was no longer his keeper. Still. Anakin was missing, Anakin was potentially _hurt_, and Obi Wan didn’t know where he was. This completely violated Obi Wan and Padmé’s Agreement.

Was the Agreement a valid one? No, certainly not, the two of them hadn’t even verbally acknowledged the Agreement’s existence. Still. The Agreement absolutely existed, and both of them were fully aware of its terms.

The Agreement was a simple one. Both Padmé and Obi Wan were observant individuals fully aware of the other and their mutually unique situation, that of being caught in the direct orbit of the star known as Anakin Skywalker. Sharing that light had taken some getting used to, silent negotiation, but it was helped by the fact that neither of them wanted to lose him. Obi Wan would pretend Anakin and Padmé didn’t exist so Anakin could stay, and Padmé would pretend Obi Wan and Anakin weren’t a hairsbreadth from happening so not to potentially shatter their friendship completely. They took risks to keep him and part of keeping him meant keeping him safe. When he was with Padmé, she was supposed to look out for him. When he was with the Jedi, Obi Wan was supposed to look out for him. He was safe and they all were happy.

It was harder to be upset at Obi Wan when she thought that he and Anakin had gone to Mandalore together to help Satine, Padmé would have dragged Anakin off with her too if she had known, she had gone and dragged Ahsoka. Facing danger together was what family did. But Anakin was gone and Satine was in danger, and Obi Wan wasn’t there at all? He hadn’t even known? He was on another mission? At the very least, Padmé thought he should have contacted _her_ if he couldn’t do anything himself, that was how their Agreement worked, they were supposed to look out for their loved ones.

Padmé scrubbed at her face wearily. Since when did she start factoring Satine into the Agreement? This deal she and Obi Wan had wasn’t for just any shared acquaintance. 

_You started factoring in Satine after you had to pick up her shattered pieces alone when he was gone…_

Padmé was not in the right mindset to consider that right now. Right now, she had to focus on Satine being in danger and how she was going to solve it along with finding Anakin. Obi Wan could be thought about later. Now, she was going to get out of this dress and into something more comfortable— and if she needed to shoot someone in said something, so be it. She was in a mood.

Pulling out the familiar Nubian red overcoat from the closet, Padmé’s fingertips brushed against the dark cloak Anakin kept aboard, and on a whim, she buried her face in it, comforted by the lingering scent of him. No, she thought as she tore herself away and started stripping off her evening gloves and going after the corset back of her dress— it really was easier with a handmaid or a husband to help —she couldn’t be thinking about him right now, it would only make things worse.

Resolving to have no more thoughts about missing loved ones, Padmé finished dressing herself, pushed further into the closet where the blasters were kept and grabbed two for good measure, then let herself back out of the cabin and into the cockpit of the ship once more, finding Ahsoka fiddling with her commlink. “I know we have a while to go,” Padmé told her. “Do you mind if I rest my eyes for a bit until we get there? I don’t want to be going at this sleep-deprived.”

“‘Rest my eyes’, you know only old people say that,” Ahsoka pointed out.

“Hey!” Padmé protested, unable not to smile just the tiniest at Ahsoka’s attempts at levity.

“It’s true,” Ahsoka nodded sagely. “Only Skyguy and Master Obi Wan say that.”

_Well there’s something else the three of us have in common..._

Padmé stuck her tongue out childishly and turned around in her seat in lieu of answering, curling up in the copilot’s chair and closing her eyes to Ahsoka’s chuckles. As troubled as her mind was, her lack of sleep was even greater and it took no time at all for Padmé to drift off.

She awoke to Ahsoka’s gentle poking and the beeping of the navicomputer. “We’re dropping out of hyperspace soon,” Ahsoka told her, voice pitched in a way that had Padmé looking to her near immediately in concern. 

“What is it?”

“Nothing, I just…” Ahsoka blinked twice, brow furrowed. “Just the Force being odd. Like it’s telling me to wait for something.”

“So that means…?” Padmé prompted, not liking the times when her Jedi tended to leave her in the dark when the Force entered the conversation.

“It means proceed on track but prepare for possible sudden course adjustments,” Ahsoka told her with a sheepish grin, and Padmé sighed, knowing by now not to bother asking for clarification. Needing something to do, she found her fingers crawling to the plait she had kept from the party and undoing it, switching to a twisted double bun.

Ahsoka was watching her, head cocked. “How are you doing that so fast?”

“Lots of practice,” Padmé replied through a mouthful of hairpins she pulled from her belt. As they exited hyperspace, the ship jolted but Padmé’s trained hands never faltered, finishing up the final loop and securing it with more twine. She would have preferred hairspray as well, but this should hold.

Unable to avoid the inevitable any longer, Padmé stared out at the planet in front of her. Mandalore loomed in glowing shadow, its sun facing the opposite side that they were coming up on. 

“Move into orbit?” Padmé asked Ahsoka. 

“Hang on.” Ahsoka raised a hand sharply, fully in mission mode. Her head was tilted slightly, eyes closed. “No orbit yet. We need to stay on the edge for now, just circle around it.”

Padmé sat back, letting Ahsoka take the controls and steer them at full speed toward the direction of the solar horizon peering around the planet. Padmé had set the coordinates to land them almost directly over Sundari, but if Ahsoka was getting a bad feeling, maybe she had prejudged. Satine could have been moved out of the capital— and Anakin could be anywhere, an unpleasant thought reminded her.

Ahsoka was at the moment steering the ship blind, and Padmé was desperately trying to have patience and resist asking her what the plan was now before Ahsoka jolted straight upwards. “The moon!” she gasped.

Padmé was lost. “The moon?”

Ahsoka’s blue eyes were wide open, her finger jabbing frantically at something out the viewport in front of them. “That moon! We need to go to that moon!”

Narrowing her eyes against the sunlight they were flying into, Padmé was able to just make out a large round object outlined in sunlight, about the size of a tiny moon, not big enough to have a name or likely any sort of life like Concordia, but a moon nevertheless. 

“Easy!” Padmé yelped as Ahsoka grabbed her steering yoke and yanked, applying all thrusters to speed towards the small moon as quickly as the ship could make it. “We need enough power to get home too.”

“We need to go there,” Ahsoka repeated, not taking her eyes off the moon. “I have a feeling. He’s there. We have to go.”

Padmé’s heart sank. “Ahsoka, I don’t think that moon has an atmosphere—“

The beeping of the ship comm cut her off. Both women leaned in to read the flashing aurebesh, eyes locking with each other at the same time. 

“That’s a distress signal…” Padmé breathed, hardly daring to hope. Could it be this easy?

“Coming from around that moon…” Ahsoka finished, voice trembling.

“Do you think?” 

“I don’t know.” Ahsoka’s eyes flickered over the signal readings again and a frown fell across her face. “This ship’s identification readings don’t match any of Skyguy’s ships, or the Temple ones, or any of the military ones we use.”

“He could have found another ship,” Padmé said fiercely. “What does the Force say?”

“Follow the signal,” Ahsoka said instantly, gripping the yoke so tightly as she turned it Padmé could see her knuckles whitening.

The closer they got to the moon, the more tense and fidgety Padmé saw Ahsoka get, shaking her head as if trying to clear it of something and refocusing her attention on the moon. Right before they entered lunar orbit, Ahsoka guided their ship to the left and around, swinging off the curve of the moon and rounding it to see—

“Oh no, oh gods, no,” Padmé blurted out, looking out through space to see the smoking remains of a Mandalorian shuttle. Upon drifting closer, it was plain to see that the entire front part of the ship had taken a direct hit from some sort of artillery and was half missing, the rest on fire. Specifically, the part of the ship where the pilot would be.

Padmé felt hot tears starting to brim behind her eyes. Oh no, no, no, no, she had came all this way, if they had actually escaped, if they were _coming back_, only for a lucky shot— 

Ahsoka’s hand heavy on her shoulder. “He’s there,” Ahsoka said. “And he’s aiive.”

“What?” Padmé demanded. “How.” _Please, please, please..._

“I don’t know how I know, I just feel him. He’s there,” Ahsoka told her, eyes glued to the smoking shuttle. Padmé braced herself, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Ahsoka still didn’t look relieved, her face looked like death warmed over. Something was wrong.

“I’m sensing a ‘but’.”

“_But—_” Ahsoka looked scared. Her looking scared was very, very bad. “But, I sense a lot of Darkness. I can barely make out Master’s presence through all of it, it reeks.” She wrinkled her nose. “This isn’t right at all.”

Oh. Darkness. The Dark Side and all of that. Padmé knew of it vaguely, knew how afraid the Jedi were of succumbing to it almost like a virus, how it created Sith. Right now she didn’t care how dangerous it may be. Not if she could save a life.

“Let’s hail it,” Padmé said. “See who answers.”

“When the cockpit’s shot off?” Ahsoka retorted, which, right. Padmé felt her cheeks warm. 

“I’m going to dock with it,” Ahsoka said. “Considering all the Darkness and how very extremely dangerous it is, is there any way I can convince you to stay back while I check it out first?”

“Not a chance,” Padmé informed her. 

Ahsoka glared at her. “Fine. But you stay behind me. This is not your wheelhouse, Senator.”

Padmé felt a flash of pride at how confident Ahsoka was at giving orders to anyone during a crisis, almost overshadowing her annoyance that said orders were being given to _her_. She’d concede to Ahsoka just this once, she decided. “Fine.”

Pasmé docked her cruiser with the back of the shuttle, which thankfully hadn’t sustained any damage, all the while keeping an eye on Ahsoka who had closed her eyes again and grimacing, fingers to her temples like she was fighting off a particularly bad migraine.

Padmé finished the docking sequence and Ahsoka let out a gagging noise. She waved off Padmé’s alarm. “No, it’s just, it’s Dark and it’s gross. You armed? Good, because I don’t think Skyguy’s the only one on that ship.” Ahsoka got up, pulling her sabers from her belt and heading out of the cockpit. Padmé followed, blaster trained as Ahsoka reached the docking door and pressed buttons to open the door.

The door opened and immediately the acrid tang of smoke started drifting into their space. Ahsoka prowled cautiously forward, Padmé at her back.

“He’s here,” Ahsoka murmured, looking around the dark space of the other ship. “Skyguy, where are you?”

“The ship must have automatically sealed off the cockpit from the rest when it was hit if we still have oxygen and pressure,” Padmé commented. “It’s too dark to see where we are, though.”

Pulling a tiny hand torch from her pocket, Padmé held it up under her blaster and shone it around, Ahsoka following with the ignition of one of her blades. “I think we’re in the main hall—“

Both women went dead silent as the snap-hiss of Ahsoka’s saber lighting was answered by another, more warbling hiss down the dark hall to their left. It sounded almost like a lightsaber, but slightly off—

“Darksaber.” Suddenly, Ahsoka was shoving Padmé back with what had to be the Force and igniting her other blade at the same time. “_Vizsla._ Get down.”

“Wait, isn’t Vizsla dea—“ Padmé didn’t get to finish before a dark figure came stumbling out of the dark hallway, an even darker slice of darkness glowing almost like a black hole waving in front of them. Ahsoka didn’t hesitate, lunging forward, saber flashing. The other figure managed to raise their slice of darkness up defensively, but the second Ahsoka’s blade connected , the figure crumpled under the strength of the blow and dropped to the floor with a rasping cry of pain followed by a coughing fit, dark blade vanishing as they fell.

Padmé froze. _That voice…_

Ahsoka hadn’t moved either, standing over the figure and illuminating them with her sabers. Padmé could see blonde hair turned green in the light.

Ahsoka spoke then, incredulously. “Duchess Satine?”

Padmé was already moving, dashing forward with her dropped torch and shining it over the broken figure of what was undoubtedly her friend with rumpled hair, blood on her face, blood running down her lips, and in tattered red and black armor. Clutched in her fingers was what looked like a saber hilt. She felt rage swell inside her. Who had done this to Satine?

Crystal blue eyes cracked open blearily, and when Padmé reached to feel her cheek, Satine shrunk back with a soft whimper. Padmé’s heart broke. “No, Satine, you’re alright. It’s Padmé, I’m saving you, you’re safe. It’s me, Padmé.”

Another cough escaped Satine’s pale lips, flecks of red flying with it. “Padmé?” she slurred out.

“Yes, Satine,” Padmé soothed, running a finger through greasy, pulled back hair, checking for injury. From the rasping breaths, she was guessing there was already damage done to the lungs, and she dearly hoped that was it.

“And Ahsoka,” Ahsoka added, stepping forward. Padmé shined her torch on Ahsoka so Satine could see.

Satine squinted. “Ahsoka… Ahs… oh. You’re here for him.”

Padmé went cold, suddenly spotting what was definitely a familiar saber hilt clipped to Satine’s belt. 

Him.

_Anakin._

Satine jerked her head weakly behind her towards the dark room she had came out of. “He’s in there.” Her face twisted up as her body shuddered with another series of hacking coughs, and Padmé peered desperately into the darkness, torn. Ahsoka brushed past her. “Stay here with the Duchess. I’ll find him.”

Padmé nodded her thanks, cradling Satine’s head in her arms and trying to feel around what felt like very damaged chestplate to try and measure Satine’s breaths. 

A trembling hand raised towards her face. “Padmé… Padmé…” 

Padmé looked down into suddenly extremely lucid eyes as Satine hissed out, “Sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry? What for—“

“Padmé!” Ahsoka’s voice rang out from the hall, high pitched and frightened, and Padmé jumped. She returned to Satine’s desperate eyes when fingers closed around her wrist.

“My fault,” Satine whispered. “He’s hurt, I’m sorry…”

Padmé’s head spun. Stars above, what had happened?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, I finally introduced Pads into the story!!!! 
> 
> Once again, terribly sorry for the wait, I promise the next chapter will be up soon soon! Lol @ me looking at my chapter outline predictions where it says that by this point I’d have like twelve chapters done HA.
> 
> Lmk what you liked, what you didn’t, anything really in the comments below!!!!


	8. Memories (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important author's note at the end.

** _Before…_ **

** _MESSAGE TRANSMISSION FREQUENCY: Satine Kryze and Obi Wan Kenobi_ **

**Obi Wan:** I realize it’s late there, and I’m sorry to disturb you.

**Obi Wan:** You should know though. Master Qui Gon is dead.

**Obi Wan:** We already had his funeral, but that was off planet. There is to be a memorial back on Coruscant, for those who could not attend the funeral but wish to pay their respects. 

**Obi Wan:** I know he considered you a good friend, so I figured I would let you know, in case you wished to come.

**Satine:** Oh gods, Obi

**Satine:** My heart bleeds with yours.

**Satine:** Of course I will be there.

* * *  
She wore red to the memorial, and she had changed her hair.

Looking at her out of the corner of his eye across the room, he could see the way the white-gold strands framed her face in the new pixie cut, even shorter than he had seen it last. She had always kept it at most shoulder length, ever since at least that first year together when she had cut it from the small of her back to the base of her neck.

Qui Gon had said—

_No,_ Obi Wan told himself, going over to her after the service with the goal of being strictly professional. He had seen tears glittering on her cheeks during, he would not distress her any further. 

Her back was turned as he came up and he cleared his throat. “It seems we both have new haircuts.”

Satine whirled around, lovely eyes wide. “Oh! Hello, ah—“ He stepped back and gave her a moment to compose herself, straightening her skirts and adjusting her coronet on her new hair. He gave her a tentative smile which she mirrored sadly. “Hello, _Knight_ Kenobi?” She tapped questioningly at the side of her neck where on him his braid used to hang.

He nodded, bowing slightly. “Hello, Duchess Kryze.”

Her smile widened slightly. “I had not heard. Congratulations.”

The implications of saying “congratulations” at someone’s funeral hit them both at the same time, and as Satine froze in horror, Obi Wan founding himself letting out choked snickers. “Don’t worry, I know what you mean, sorry, I didn’t say, I, sorry—“

He was still laughing, but the laughter was threatening to turn into something far more embarrassing and he covered his mouth, turning from her and trying to blink away the heaviness in his eyes.

A hand touched his back lightly, quickly flitting away when he stiffened.

“Ben.” Satine’s voice was quiet, thick with grief. “What happened?”

Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself back together by the seams. He had been doing just fine until he had seen her and all the old memories of her and his Master had come rushing back. He was just glad he hadn’t brought Anakin along.

Turning around slowly, he guided them to a nearby bench. They sat, and he gave her the overview of the story. Satine didn’t say a word until it ended, though when he looked at her, her eyes were sparkling with wetness again.

“I think I shall go to Naboo myself,” she told him before she left.

* * *  
Padmé wasn’t sure what to make of the Duchess of Mandalore.

When Naboo had received the offer of aid and support with reparations in the aftermath of the Trade Federation occupation, Padmé had found herself more open to accepting this particular extended hand as opposed to the other members of the Senate sending weak overtures of assistance that reeked of guilt for deciding to sit and do nothing while her planet was invaded.

Mandalore, while nominally a member of the Republic and possessing right to Senate representation, chose to waive that right as well as most others granted to them. Instead, the former warrior world continued its policy of political distancing in favor of its globalist identity and independence, only delving into Republic politics on matters of utmost galactic importance and to offer input on social reform and humanitarian aid.

The video recorded message to Queen Amidala’s court had come from the Duchess herself, stating her deep sorrow and sympathy for the people of Naboo for what had happened. Information of the occupation had not reached her, she said, until after the Queen’s address to the Senate, and then Nubian forces retook Theed before any decisions could be made. The Duchess apologized for any suffering that could have been lessened had she been able to help, and she hoped to make up for it by assisting in rebuilding efforts and bringing additional resources, possibly creating a new trade deal.

Curious, Padmé had decided to accept, and with her advisors in agreement, sent a message back welcoming a Mandalorian delegation.

When the delegation arrived, the Duchess came as well, unexpected. Padmé had recovered, the Queen was not surprised, but the look the pale woman in her dark teal and black gave her as she greeted her, that odd smile that had Padmé thinking there might be other motives bringing her here— motives that did not appear malicious, she stressed privately to a suspicious Sabé who had of course picked up on the same thing —made Padmé even more interested in finding out about Satine Kryze. 

The first meeting with the Naboo Royal Advisors went well, and then the private meeting between Queen and Duchess had happened. Guards escorted Satine to the Queen’s study, and Padmé had been about to suggest a walk around the palace followed by a tour of Theed, when the Duchess spoke up.

“You play chess?”

Padmé had looked to see the High Republic-era wooden chess set on one of her shelves, a gift from someone important at some point. “Oh, no, unfortunately. It is just an antique.”

Satine quirked a brow. “Is it functional?”

“I believe so,” said Padmé, looking at the calculating gleam in those blue eyes as they turned on her.

“Would you like to learn?” asked Satine.

They had played for hours, Satine’s slender hands guiding pieces and gesturing to explain moves and rules. Padmé was a fast student and quickly picked up enough to be competition, though it was clear she would not win against someone who had obviously been playing for most of her life.

They spoke while they played, Satine delving into the question most off-worlders eventually asked about Padmé’s— and all of the past monarchs’ —young age, then surprising her by continuing to say that her own reign had started at age seventeen and that she commended Padmé for such excellent leadership.

Padmé had been surprised at the lack of condescending towards their customs in favor of genuine respect, and maybe it had been this that had allowed her to remove a layer of armor and admit that nearly letting ones planet get overrun by hostiles and needing the Jedi to intervene had certainly tested her leadership skills.

The Duchess’ eyes had flashed at this, but before Padmé could focus on it Satine was moving a piece and cornering Padmé into check.

It wasn’t until the following day upon which the Duchess was to be entertained with a scenic ride out into the countryside to see the natural landscape that Padmé discovered more about her motivations.

Padmé was in her handmaiden disguise, off by herself with Satine to show her one of the cliffside views while Sabé-as-Amidala entertained the rest of the Mandalorian entourage. Satine had merely smiled in amusement when Padmé revealed herself, saying that was a clever trick and that she had slightly suspected.

Padmé certainly hoped that was a bluff, or she and Sabé were going to have to fine-tune their act, so to speak.

When they reached the top of the cliff and looked out over the valley, Satine questioned if this was part of the site of the battle for Theed. Padmé agreed yes, this was where the Gungans made their stand against the Federation’s droids.

The pacifist Duchess pursed her lips at the mention of violence, gaining the same odd look Padmé had seen in them during chess, but then to her surprise, Satine asked her if she could tell her about it.

Hesitantly, Padmé told the story, Satine listening quietly. She seemed to perk up most at mentions of the Jedi— also surprising, weren’t there stories of Mandalorians disliking the Order? —so Padmé made to gently skirt around mentioning Master Jinn’s death.

Even more surprising was it then when Padmé had finished, Satine looked out over the landscape, a shadow across her face, and asked, “Was there not a Jedi who lost their life in the battle?” At Padmé's startled silence, Satine shot her a glance. “A Master Jinn, correct?”

It dawned on Padmé then. “You knew him?”

Another slow smile made its way across Satine’s face. “Him and his apprentice, yes. It appears to me that they are the go-to duo for planetary leaders in distress.” Her face shuttered. “They _were_, anyway.”

Then to Padmé’s astonishment, the Duchess began to tell her own story, bits and pieces of a year long adventure of danger and stress. During this, Padmé realized just what exactly was the other reason for Satine’s trip to Naboo.

* * *  
_To Her Majesty the Queen Padmé Amidala, Royal House of Naboo, Theed,_

_Hello, Padmé,_

_Or, hello, Your Majesty. You said I could call you Padmé, but I don’t want to be rude, so just in case. It’s me, Anakin Skywalker. You met me on Tatooine. You have my japoor friendship token._

_It has been a while since I saw you on Naboo. How are you?_

_I’m doing well. I’m still training to be a Jedi Knight. I think I’m getting pretty good at it._

_Your friend Chancellor Palpatine is now my friend too, and he tells me many stories about you, of all the brave and kind and smart things you do for your people. I think that’s amazing._

_I see you on the holonet sometimes too. Your outfits are very neat. How do you get your hair to do that?_

_I know we did not know each other for very long, but I really miss talking to you. You were very interesting, and I liked being your friend. _

_I hope I am still your friend. _

_You are definitely still mine._

_Maybe I could call you sometime? Or visit?_

_.  
.  
.  
._

_[ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO DELETE THIS DIGITAL DRAFT? (**YES** / NO)]_

* * *  
“Don’t roll your eyes at me, Anakin, this is important.”

Anakin resisted the sigh he wanted to let out, trying to subtly loosen his fingers from Obi Wan’s grasp so he didn’t sweat all over his Master with his stupid damp palms. “Why do I need to know this again?”

Obi Wan gave him a Look. “As I said,” _multiple times_ was implied, “the celebration we will be on guard for requires all attendees to dance at least once in honor of the deity being celebrated. Jedi are not excluded.”

“Jedi aren’t dancing monkey lizards,” Anakin grumbled, readjusting his grip again and trying not to trip as Obi Wan guided him through the series of movements.

“No, but we are trained fighters,” Obi Wan said, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “Learning the moves and footwork to saberplay is not much different than dancing, truly, and I know you excel at that. I don’t see why this is so different for you.”

_Because in sparring, you’re not so close and staring at me!_ Anakin resisted saying, angry at himself and at his Master. Obi Wan was being weird lately, or he was doing something to make Anakin feel weird around him, Anakin didn’t know _what_, but he did not appreciate the sudden stumbling nervousness inside of him, whatever it was from.

Instead, he tried to cover it up with the cheeky grin that always made his Master’s eye twitch. “Sorry, it’s just difficult now that I’m the same height as you, Master. Different perspective.”

Obi Wan’s face did grow pinched, and something inside of Anakin went happy at the sight of it. “_Almost_ as tall as me,” was the correction. 

Anakin's stomach dipped as Obi Wan twirled him neatly around, still lecturing. “And that doesn’t mean— Padawan.”

“Sorry,” Anakin mumbled as he jumped off of the foot he had just trod on for the fifth time and landed directly on Obi Wan’s other foot. “Sorry!”

Wincing lightly, Obi Wan took a step backwards, releasing Anakin’s hands. Great, now they were cold. “Let’s take a break, shall we?”

Anakin nodded guiltily, even more frustrated at himself for feeling bad.

It was Obi Wan’s fault, whatever this was.

And dancing was still stupid.

* * *  
Padmé had only been Senator for a few months when Naboo received the invite to Mandalore’s celebration of ten years of peace. The Queen was unable to attend, so Padmé, having maintained a prosperous alliance with the Duchess as well as an amicable relationship, was chosen to attend.

The celebration took place in Sundari, and the venue was beautiful at sunset, rainbows of light reflecting off the different complicated glass designs on the walls. 

Padmé stood off to the side, tired from a particularly taxing conversation with an ambassador who did not know it was considered impolite on some planets to talk for about ten minutes straight in a one-on-one conversation— Padmé knew, she had counted.

The sparkling of soft light reflecting off crystal caught her eye, and she turned to see the Duchess headed her way, hair down past her shoulders in multiple braids, headpiece seeming to represent a rising sun catching the last of the actual sunlight and the gold in it turning the woman wearing it to fire.

Padmé had spoken to her briefly in greeting, but had lost her in the crowd. Now she smiled and raised a hand to wave as Satine smiled back and came up to her. “Senator Amidala, all of my congratulations for your newest appointment.”

“Thank you, Duchess. I’m happy to serve my people in any way I can, and this position is a great honor.”

“You’ll be wonderful,” Satine told her, taking her hand and drawing her forward. “I’m sure of it. You actually bested me at chess last time we met, remember?”

Padmé laughed. “Barely. I barely beat you. I think it was luck.”

“You sell yourself too short, my friend,” Satine said firmly, still holding her hand and guiding her through the crowd towards the center of the room. 

“Well thank you, Your Grace. That means much, coming from you.” Padmé craned her neck. “Where are we going?”

“Away from most of the crowds.” Satine looked back at her mischievously. “I would like to catch up with you, discuss how to better the relationship between Naboo and Mandalore even further than it is currently.”

Padmé grinned. The evening was falling, but the future was bright. She had a career, she had very good friends, she had ideas and people that could help her make the galaxy a better place. “I would love that. I do hope to get some dancing in before the night has ended, though.”

There was another soft smile from the Duchess. “I think that can be arranged.”

* * *  
**_MESSAGE TRANSMISSION FREQUENCY: Satine Kryze and Padmé Amidala_**

**Satine:** I just read the news about the assassination attempt. I’m so glad you’re alright. How is everything? How are you?

**Padmé:** Thanks for thinking of me, Satine, that’s sweet of you. 

**Padmé:** Honestly, I’m feeling a little shaken. Frustrated. Upset. I don’t suppose the news mentioned that Cordé was acting as me at the time and was killed?

**Satine:** I didn’t hear that, no. Your pain is my pain, my friend, Cordé was a good soul.

**Padmé:** She should still be alive. People shouldn’t be resorting to hired hits to prevent democracy from taking place.

**Satine:** Ah, yes, that new act proposed that would militarize the Republic even further. I trust you can guess my opinions on this mess, so I’ll spare you the diatribe.

**Satine:** Although 

**Satine:** I’m afraid I must make one thing clear to you now: if war does occur, do not expect any support from me or from Mandalore. The entire thing reeks of needless violence, and I will keep my people safely out of it at all costs. I expect other planets will do the same.

**Padmé:** I used to rule a planet too, remember? You won’t lose my respect or my friendship for wanting to protect your world and your sovereignty, no matter what our political opinions may be.

**Satine:** But will the Senate see things that way?

**Padmé:** If I can do anything about it, they won’t need to think anything about any war. I’ve rewritten my speech at least twenty times to get it perfect, and I am going to address the Senate with it and I will vote, no matter how many people try and kill me for it.

**Satine:** Gods’ sake, Padmé, pray that it’s none! Why invite more trouble?

**Padmé:** The Chancellor seems to think trouble is inevitable. Apparently, I now need babysitting.

**Satine:** Babysitting?

**Padmé:** I’ve been assigned Jedi protection. 

**Padmé:** And you’ll never guess who it is…

**Satine:** Who?

**Satine:** Wait

**Satine:** NO.

**Padmé:** Don’t blame me!

**Padmé:** I didn’t ask for him! I didn’t ask for ANY extra security, but the decision went over my head!

**Padmé:** Satine?

**Satine:** Well, whether you asked for it or not, you’re certainly in for excitement now. It seems to follow him.

**Satine:** And you, now that I think about it.

**Padmé:** You know, I have worked with him before. That’s probably why he was assigned to me now, actually.

**Satine:** And look at what happened the last time…

**Padmé:** No one’s going to die this time, Satine. I won’t let it happen.

**Satine:** Firstly, that isn’t something anyone can promise, Padmé Amidala, so please humor me and don’t jinx it

**Satine:** Secondly, I was merely joking. I apologize for the negative implications.

**Satine:** In all honesty, you’re probably the safest you could be with Master Kenobi. He takes care of his people. I trust him with you.

**Padmé:** …you trust him WITH me?

**Satine:** I meant that I trust him.

**Satine:** I trust the Jedi.

**Satine:** As a whole.

**Satine:** They know how to do their jobs.

**Padmé:** Well, I’m glad to hear that you approve! Shall I pass on your warm words?

**Satine:** No

**Satine:** That’s alright, Padmé. I’ll tell him myself, it’s been a while since we’ve spoken.

**Padmé:** I’m actually meeting him and his partner later today.

**Padmé:** I should probably be preparing right now.

**Satine:** Very well, I won’t keep you.

**Satine:** I wish you all the luck. The Republic needs its brightest stars like you, especially now.

**Padmé:** Thank you, Satine. That means a lot, coming from you.

**Satine:** It’s the truth.

**Satine:** Oh, and Padmé?

**Satine:** Be careful.

**Satine:** Please.

* * *  
What Padmé remembered most about Obi Wan Kenobi from her time spent with him during the Nubian occupation was a kind smile. He had been chivalrously polite to all the handmaidens— not that Padmé at all doubted that he was fooled by her disguise any more than Qui Gon Jinn had been — and a sharp intelligence she had observed from his conversations with his Master, with the captain, the other girls, herself.

It truly was a funny coincidence that the Duchess of Mandalore had taken the opportunity to comm her at this particular moment, considering that she was the source of all the other things Padmé had heard about Obi Wan throughout the years. She giggled to herself at the curt insistence not to pass on any messages to the Jedi; it tied in with a theory of Padmé’s that Satine might be harboring a slight crush.

When the pair of Jedi walked through the door, Padmé could admit to understanding where Satine was coming from though, watching as Obi Wan moved up to greet her. He was definitely very handsome, and she could still see the kind smile.

Padmé was still happy to see him again, despite the unpleasant circumstances, and her greeting to him was warm as she moved past to address the taller man behind him and—

Oh. Oh _no._

* * *  
**_MESSAGE TRANSMISSION FREQUENCY: Satine Kryze and Obi Wan Kenobi_**

**Satine:** I’m aware you know her already, but here’s a reminder to watch your charms on this protection detail; that’s a friend of mine.

**Satine:** Also, stay safe, or at least try to.

* * *  
**_MESSAGE TRANSMISSION FREQUENCY: Satine Kryze and Obi Wan Kenobi_**

**Obi Wan:** How did you find out?

**Satine:** Hello to you too, so nice to see you’ve answered my message only a couple of days late. You must not be as busy as usual.

**Obi Wan:** Duchess.

**Satine:** Don’t you “Duchess” me, Obi Wan Kenobi, I’ve done nothing but be concerned for friends. For your information, I inquired after Senator Amidala’s health in the wake of the attempt on her life, as she is my friend. She mentioned she was being put under security detail and that you were one of her protectors, but that was all I heard of anything.

**Satine:** Not that I knew that it was apparently such a big secret. 

**Obi Wan:** There’s no secret, it’s fine. 

**Obi Wan:** I was just asking because it is my job.

**Satine:** Demanding, more like. 

**Obi Wan:** Could we continue this later? I need to go.

**Satine:** Of course. Go do your job.

**Satine:** Stay safe.

**Obi Wan:** Goodbye.

**Obi Wan:** And thank you.

* * *  
**_MESSAGE TRANSMISSION FREQUENCY: Satine Kryze and Obi Wan Kenobi_**

**Obi Wan:** Hello. Do you have a moment for a question?

**Satine:** Two messages in one week! I might have to spare a moment for the momentous occasion.

**Obi Wan:** Seriously, if I’m bothering you, I can try somewhere else.

**Satine:** Not getting to the point bothers me, Master Jedi. What is it?

**Obi Wan:** It’s work-related.

**Satine:** I see.

**Satine:** Continue.

**Obi Wan:** Thank you.

**Obi Wan:** I was wondering what you might know about a man named Fett. First name Jango.

**Satine:** Hang on.

**Satine:** I’ll be right back.

**Satine:** Officially? No.

**Obi Wan:** Unofficially?

**Satine:** Unofficially, the situation is complicated.

**Obi Wan:** Complicated? 

**Satine:** Unfortunately, that’s all I can give you.

**Obi Wan:** I see. However, that means that if you unofficially at least know of him, then I would be correct in assuming that Mandalore is the right direction to look in?

**Satine:** Absolutely not, officially, unofficially, whatever. I don’t know what’s going on, Ben, but I can promise you your answers won’t be found here.

**Obi Wan:** I trust you, my lady. 

**Obi Wan:** And I didn’t think he had anything to do with you anyway, I was only eliminating any possibilities I could. I’m sorry for alarming you.

**Satine:** Oh hush, I was not “alarmed”, I was telling the truth. I’m glad you thought of me, and I am sorry that I couldn’t be of more help.

**Obi Wan:** You offered a refreshing conversation that wasn’t the monotonous work I’m currently doing. No apology necessary. I’m sorry for keeping you.

**Satine:** I enjoyed the conversation just as much. I hope we can speak again soon.

**Obi Wan:** I’m sure we will.

**Satine:** Oh, before you leave

**Satine:** You never answered what I said about watching your charms.

**Obi Wan:** Flattering as that is, I couldn’t possibly see how that’s your concern, milady.

**Satine:** Please. As I’ve said, the Senator is my friend, and I do know you.

**Obi Wan:** Well, if it’s to assuage a dear friend’s worries, then I am happy to inform you that the Senator is most definitely not “interested”, so to speak, in me. Not at all.

**Satine:** You sound so certain.

**Satine:** Was someone trying?

**Satine:** Hello, Master Jedi?

_(message read 0204 MST)_

**Satine:** Obi Wan!

* * *  
**_MESSAGE TRANSMISSION FREQUENCY: Satine Kryze and Padmé Amidala_**

**Satine:** Padmé. I once more saw the news and am once again very much hoping that you are alright. I realize this is sounding very repetitive, but pardon me as this time I could barely believe what I saw.

**Padmé:** Hey Satine. Thanks again for looking out for me.

**Padmé:** Unfortunately, likely everything you’ve read is true.

**Satine:** So there is going to be a war then?

**Padmé:** I voted against it. I tried to do everything in my power that I could to stop it.

**Satine:** I know you did.

**Padmé:** I was there, Satine. On Geonosis. I saw everything. It’s going to be bad.

**Satine:** Yes, about that. Do I even want to know how you managed to land yourself directly in the middle of the fire?

**Padmé:** Situations escalated. My protectors and I found who was sending my would-be assassins. Count Dooku gave us his regards.

**Satine:** How charming. So the lot of you did find excitement then. I told you.

**Padmé:** Yes, you did. It was exciting, alright.

**Satine:** I hope you three made it out in one piece.

**Padmé:** I’m fine. 

**Padmé:** Obi Wan had a few injuries. His padawan, Anakin, probably got hurt the worst out of anyone alive, unfortunately, but they’ve both since healed near completely.

**Padmé:** So I’ve heard, anyway.

**Satine:** Your words do not inspire me with confidence, dear, but for my own sake I’ll hold you to it that they’re both well.

**Padmé:** Trust me, they’ll have to be.

**Satine:** What do you mean?

**Padmé:** Ah.

**Padmé:** Nothing really, just thoughts.

**Satine:** What kinds of thoughts?

**Padmé:** Just thoughts for now, I promise. I’ve heard things floating around the Senate, saw other things during the Geonosis battle.

**Satine:** Concerning the Jedi? 

**Padmé:** Just forget I mentioned anything, Satine, please. I shouldn’t have said what I did when I have no basis to stand on.

**Satine:** But you did say something.

**Padmé:** Yes, and now I’m telling you to just follow the news. Keep an eye out. I could very well be wrong.

* * *  
Padmé ran her fingers softly over the delicate old Mon Cala pearls covering the soft lace in her hands.

The little she remembered of her childhood, actual childhood before it was taken over by politics, was when she and her family would come to visit her grandmother at Varykino. Gran would pull her old wedding dress out of the closet and let Sola and Padmé take turns trying it on, pretending to be blushing brides. 

Padmé had always been fascinated with the ornate ivory pearls on the pretty dress even then, thinking it was one of the most beautiful gowns she had ever seen. Gran had said that since Sola was older, she would get first dibs at wearing the dress to her own wedding, but she had winked at Padmé while saying it, like she had predicted that in the future, during her wedding preparations Sola would fall absolutely in love with a dress from a small, unknown boutique in Theed.

Sola had even said, “Guess Gran’s old dress is yours now,” to her, and Padmé had laughed at the time.

She hadn’t actually thought she would wear it though, not until she arrived back home on Naboo two hours engaged, and her new betrothed had looked at her uncertainly as if to say, _Now what?_ and Padmé had hesitated for exactly five seconds before realizing that not only did she have a place, but she had a dress as well.

It may be wrong in the eyes of the law, but the fates had to have been on her side.

Padmé adjusted the veil in her hair, no handmaids to assist her with this, hearing 3PO knocking at the door outside her grandmother’s room to let her know the priest had arrived. 

Her friends weren’t here, neither was her grandmother or any of her other family. The only witnesses to the biggest decision she had made in her life would be the priest sworn to secrecy, two droids, and her other half.

One last look at the woman standing in the mirror. Padmé thought that she probably fit the dress better than Sola would have. 

Another knock at the door.

The woman in the mirror smiled

* * *  
**_INCOMING AUDIO COMMUNICATIONS TRANSMISSION FROM: Satine Kryze_**

“Satine? What is it? It’s the middle of the night here, what’s wrong?”

“I was just wondering, whatever came of that Jango Fett?”

“Fett? Oh. He was the lead I needed. I never thanked you for helping me with that.”

“Mmm. So what happened with him?”

“Happened? I followed him, obtained the information I needed.”

“And where is he now?”

“… He’s dead.”

“…”

“I didn’t kill him.”

“I never said you did.”

“Alright, then— I’m sorry, was there anything else you wanted to ask me? At three in the morning?”

“Only after you and Anakin. I’ve been following the news, and keeping up with Padmé— Senator Amidala. I hear you ran into some trouble recently on Geonosis.”

“I’m alright.”

“Translate ‘alright’ from Obi Wan to Basic and you get ‘mildly maimed’.”

“Very funny. No, honestly Satine, I’m okay. Nothing a quick soak in bacta couldn’t fix, trust me.”

“… I believe you. For now. How is Anakin?”

“Anakin… Anakin lost a hand.”

“Oh my gods. I’m so sorry—“

“No, don’t, the only one who should be apologizing is me. He only lost it because I wasn’t there backing him up.”

“That can’t be tr—“

“No, it is. I was there.”

“Obi Wan—“

“What’s done is done. They’ve given him a cybernetic replacement, and he’s already tried to modify it over four times and has thoroughly driven everyone involved in the recovery process— himself included —up the wall. It should work as good as his natural one provided he leaves it the hells alone and gives himself time to adjust to it; I’ll be working with him to get him comfortable with his saber again, he’ll need to be quickly.”

“Why so quickly?”

“Well… now, you never heard any of this, but despite his loss of limb— and decision to disobey direct orders, hmm, never mind —Anakin impressed the Council with his performance in all of this. They told me that he should make Knight within the year if he remains on course.” I’m sorry, I’m rambling, I’m just—“

“No, that’s fine. You’re excited for him.”

“I rather am, aren’t I?”

“That’s not a bad thing.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m happy for you— and for him, anyway. Give him my well-wishes for his arm.”

“I will.”

“There was another thing I wished to discuss with you.”

“Yes?”

"Something that has been worrying me at night."

"What is it?"

“Tell me everything I’ve been hearing in the news is not true. About the Jedi.”

“So that’s why you called.”

“Tell me the Order would never make such a mistake.”

“Satine—“

“Because it cannot possibly be true, what I’m hearing, that the galactic _peacekeepers_ would stoop—”

“You don’t understand—“

“Then deny it.”

“…”

“Say something—”

“I cannot deny it.”

* * *  
**_MESSAGE TRANSMISSION FREQUENCY: Satine Kryze and Obi Wan Kenobi_**

**Obi Wan:** I’m sorry our conversation last night ended the way it did.

**Obi Wan:** I understand why you are upset. Like I said, this would not be my first choice either, hells know I wish it were anything else.

**Obi Wan:** But the Jedi have a duty, a duty to protect. I thought you would understand this at least.

**Satine:** Do not speak to me of duty.

_(Your access point has been BLOCKED. You will no longer be able to SEND DIRECT MESSAGES, SEND VOCAL COMMUNICATIONS, or SEND HOLOGRAPHIC COMMUNICATIONS to Satine Kryze)_

* * *  
A gentle hand was stroking Anakin’s shoulder. Grumbling, he turned, sweaty sheets sticking to his skin as he cracked open his eyes. To his surprise, both eyes were able to open without one twinging in pain and swelling shut, the eye in question now feeling nothing but faintly itchy.

Vision adjusting to the light, Anakin found his Master’s face staring down at him, eyes shaded in carefully disguised worry.

“Looks like your fever’s finally broken,” Obi Wan told him, smiling slightly upon noticing his alertness.

“Mrrghh,” Anakin replied, shifting in the sticky sheets again, only to freeze upon remembering  
just why he was in the Healers’ wing with a fever in the first place. _Ah, kark._ “M’sorry, Master.”

Obi Wan sighed, shaking his head in exasperation. Anakin watched as strands of auburn bangs fell free of their neat styling. He was still getting used to his Master’s new haircut, which was the explanation he was giving himself for why he wanted to reach out and touch the loose strands.

“You do realize this could have all been easily avoided,” Obi Wan pointed out. “If you had gone to get it looked at right after it happened— or even just put a bacta patch on it, it wouldn’t have gotten infected like that and you wouldn’t be cooped up in the Healing Halls for three days.”

“I _did_ put a patch on it.” _Yeah, it might have been expired, but—_ “And I was busy, there was no time to go bug the Healers, especially with such a stupid injury.”

Obi Wan raised a brow. “And when I left for the week, I thought I told you not to overwork yourself; you’ve been far too stressed. I don’t know how that translated to you as ‘continue overworking until you stumble into the Healers’ ward with a fever from a neglected gash on your face that you claim came from— what was it, again?”

Anakin clenched his jaw, feeling his cheeks heating. “I fell, hit my face on something.” _Because I am a royal mess_.

There was that eyebrow raise. “Care to elaborate?”

_Absolutely not._ He was already fielding messages from Padmé while trying to come up with some sort of explanation for his new deformity. But Obi Wan was still staring at him, such gentle concern for Anakin’s wellbeing on his face, and Anakin still felt dried-out, tired, and hot from the fever. Bracing himself for his Master’s laughter, Anakin mumbled out exactly how he had slipped and fallen and ended up like this, forcing himself to challengingly keep Obi Wan’s gaze the whole time.

Obi Wan did laugh, but it wasn’t mocking or stinging like Anakin thought it would be. Instead, it was a quiet, almost affectionate huff as he reached out again and traced the newly formed scar over Anakin’s eye. Anakin felt his skin tingle where fingertips trailed. “You do realize that this likely isn’t even in the top fifty of embarrassing things the Healers have had to see? They honestly wouldn’t have cared.”

“I would have,” Anakin retorted. “People always judge me, even when you say they won’t. And I wasn’t going to let this get in the way of Trials prep.”

There was another sigh, and his Master’s hand slid off his face— Anakin kind of missed its presence. “Awfully presumptuous of you.”

“I notice things. We’re in a war, and everyone’s been acting off around me like they’re testing me for something. I’m good enough, I know it, and so does everyone else. I’m ready.”

“Well, at least we know the knock to your head didn’t shake any of your confidence,” Obi Wan said in a put-upon manner, but to Anakin’s inner relief, he said nothing to contradict Anakin’s statement of being ready.

“Hey, confidence is all I’ve got left now that my looks are gone.” Anakin tried for joking, but he couldn’t keep the wavering undertone of truth out of his voice.

To his dismay, Obi Wan _did_ laugh at this, a full snort followed by another shake of the head. Anakin wanted to pull the covers up over his face and hide— 

“Please stop being ridiculous, you vain creature. There’s nothing wrong with your face, they give scars like that to holofilm stars to make them look dashing, to add character,” Obi Wan chided with a crooked grin. “The worst you’ll get are people asking you how you got it.”

Anakin was about to roll his eyes through the teasing, before something Obi Wan had said registered in his brain. _Dashing, huh?_ A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Wait, so what you’re saying is… you think I look like a holostar.”

The expression Obi Wan made was comical as he reeled backwards. “How is it that _that_ is what you got out of this conversation?”

Anakin pushed onwards, feeling oddly satisfied with the disgruntled furrow in his Master’s brow and the slight pinkening in his face, hells knew Obi Wan teased him enough. “Why, because I think that’s one of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me, Master.” He batted his eyelashes ridiculously. “At least now I know you aren’t blind.”

Obi Wan swatted him on the shoulder.

“Hey! Attacking the infirm!”

“Last time I bother trying to prop up your inflated ego,” Obi Wan scoffed, but there was a hint of a grin under his beard, Anakin could see it. 

“Too late, you’ve already called me pretty!” Anakin sang, not entirely sure why he was so satisfied, but like hells if he was going to let his Master take it back.

A troubled look crossed Obi Wan’s face, and he stood abruptly from his chair beside the bed. “What I’m calling you is high on antibiotics and in need of sleep. I have to get going, but if you behave, I’ll try and convince Master Nema to spring you when I return.”

“Coward,” Anakin muttered, wondering what had his robes in such a twist now, but refrained from doing something silly like sticking his tongue out like a child, or like catching Obi Wan’s hand and holding him in place. Maybe he did need some sleep.

His Master beat a decidedly hasty retreat to the door, but paused in the frame to turn around and fix Anakin with another Look. “I’m serious. Get some rest. I need you at your best.”

Trying not to fidget under the full force of Obi Wan’s attention, Anakin tried his best impression of a “holostar” smile. He probably looked like he had gas. “Yes, Master.”

Obi Wan’s expression shifted into something Anakin wasn’t familiar with, still trained on him in full-force. Another quick nod and Obi Wan was pivoting around and disappearing through the door.

Anakin lifted his flesh hand and traced his scar, feeling a smile curl over his face.

* * *  
Obi Wan walked briskly down the hallway away from the Healing Halls, certainly _not_ running away from anything.

Too much time spent around Anakin had obviously taken effect on him at last.

Objectively, he knew Anakin was attractive. Conventionally speaking. It was just a fact. So then why _now_ did he…?

_Shit._ Obi Wan put a hand over his face as he walked, letting it wipe down slowly. _Shit, shit, shit._

* * *  
**_MESSAGE TRANSMISSION FREQUENCY: Satine Kryze and Padmé Amidala_**

**Padmé:** Hi Satine. Silly question, if you have a moment.

**Satine:** Today has been abysmally dull; I welcome any and all distractions.

**Satine:** Not that you are merely a cure for boredom, of course. I love speaking with you.

**Satine:** (This isn’t politics-related though, is it? I’m always happy to listen or help if I can, and if you need me, I’m here, but I am not joking when I say that my brain has nearly melted out of my head from trying to mediate tax reform arguments amongst my council for over half of the day.)

**Padmé:** Yikes. Sounds like you could use someone to listen to you.

**Satine:** Nonsense my dear, it’s simply me complaining. What is your silly question?

**Padmé:** It’s nothing political, I promise.

**Padmé:** It’s actually a bit personal , so if you don’t want to answer I’ll only be a little disappointed.

**Padmé:** I’m kidding.

**Satine:** Oh? Go on.

**Padmé:** Alright. So I crossed paths with our Jedi friends recently.

**Satine:** Oh.

**Padmé:** I promised no political talk, and to be honest, you wouldn’t exactly agree with the situation, so I won’t explain the where or why.

**Satine:** How’s the war treating our illustrious generals?

**Padmé:** Hard. They aren’t enjoying it if that’s what you’re asking.

**Satine:** I wasn’t asking anything.

**Satine:** Are they alright?

**Padmé:** They’re in good health and the best spirits they can be, given the situation.

**Padmé:** Still a pair of absolute terrors at times; we’ve found much of the trouble you warned us about.

**Satine:** Your question?

**Padmé:** Right. Well, you know them fairly well.

**Satine:** I only know Obi Wan, but we actually haven’t spoken for a while.

**Padmé:** Oh. You’d be able to tell me if they’re actually being friendly or if it’s just politeness though, right?

**Satine:** How “friendly” do you mean?

**Satine:** Stars, I told him not to bother you.

**Padmé:** What? No, no one’s bothering me! I’m just asking!

**Satine:** That’s a rather pointed question to be simply curious about, now isn’t it?

**Padmé:** I’m serious! I’m simply wondering because I see them both as friends, but as a single female who is interacting with them under the public eye, I would prefer to keep any unwanted rumors away.

**Padmé:** I heard something unpleasant the other day, and I would prefer to maintain my friendship without any future awkwardness.

**Satine:** It will always be awkward befriending men like that, I’m sorry to say. It can’t be helped.

**Satine:** As for any signs of affection, I can only speak for one of them and only from an outsider’s guess at that. However, I would say you can only suspect actual affection if they deign to show it in the first place.

**Satine:** The more visual emotion you can see on their face and in their voice, the more concern you should be.

**Satine:** If they actually deign to drop their walls around you, run.

**Padmé:** Run?

**Satine:** Run. For both of your sakes.

* * *  
“So do you love him, then?”

Anakin blinked, not quite registering the question asked in a quiet, hesitant, very-unlike-Padmé tone.

The pair of them were lying in bed together, Padmé’s head nestled over Anakin’s heart with rogue strands of chocolate curls tickling him in the nose. They were getting ready to go to sleep and he had been rambling about a recent mission he had been on with Obi Wan— part of him had thought his wife had already drifted off.

“What?” he asked her, starting to sit up, but her hand splayed over his pectoral tightened, holding him in place. 

Padmé propped her chin up on her hands, balancing over Anakin’s chest to stare at him with dark eyes soft shadows in the dark. “You were talking about how Obi Wan saved your life, remember?”

Anakin wasn’t following. “Yeah. And?”

A flash of white teeth showed Padmé chewing on her lip, another very-unlike her show of uncertainty. “And,” she started, cocking her head quizzically, “I asked you if you love him.”

“Who?” It came to Anakin in a hot flash of lightning. _”Obi Wan?”_

Now he did sit up, dislodging Padmé from him to her noise of disgruntlement as he took the covers with him. “Where the hells did that come from?!” He was dismayed to hear his voice going up a register.

“I was just asking!” Padmé defended, sitting up as well and yanking some of the sheets back from him to hide from the cold air. “I thought he was your friend, I didn’t think you would be so upset over the notion that you cared for him.”

“I love _you,_” Anakin snapped, feeling his heart beginning to race. Didn’t Padmé know that? Why would she think that he would ever—

“Of course you love me, that’s not a question,” Padmé retorted. “I know that, and I love you too. We’re a team.”

Anakin felt lost, bewildered, scared. “Then what—?”

“It’s okay to love him too, is what I’m saying. You aren’t in trouble, I’d just like to know.”

_Why was she even—?!_ “But I don’t,” he said desperately, words burning in the back of his throat as a voice whispered disapprovingly in his head. _Now is that really true?_

Padmé sighed, tucking stray curls behind her ear and looking him in the eye. “Do you remember when we were finalizing our marital agreement? When I asked you to be truthful to me if you were already seeing someone and you swore to me that you weren’t?”

“I was telling the truth!”

“Don’t raise your voice, people are sleeping,” Padmé said, crossing her arms over her sheets. “I know you told the truth, but the reason I wanted to be certain was that from the moment I met you again, I couldn’t tell if you were already with Obi Wan—“

“Padmé!”

“—and if I was the one intruding. The pair of you sure as hells act married!”

Anakin opened his mouth to defend himself, but couldn’t find any words. They did _not_ act like that— did they? Yeah, sometimes on missions, they got mistaken as a couple, and maybe he hadn’t quite gotten over the crush he thought he had years ago, and his Master might be the only thing besides this blasted war keeping him at the Temple, but… 

Okay. Maybe he was a little attached to Obi Wan. Fine. But what his wife was implying—

Anakin gathered up Padmé’s soft hands, trying not to squeeze them too tightly. “I would never betray you, my love. Never.”

Padmé honest to Force shushed him. “Again, I know, Ani.” She took a deep breath. “What I am trying to tell you is that in plenty of cultures it is perfectly fine and normal to be in love with multiple people, Naboo included. I know you love me, and as long as you discuss it with me, it isn’t a betrayal for you to love someone else as well. Do you understand?”

Anakin was not an idiot. He knew what polyamory was, and that it was common or even the standard all over the galaxy. Still though. That didn’t mean….

Just because…

“But he doesn’t like me like that,” Anakin argued. _Barely feels like he likes me at all sometimes…_

“I’m not asking his feelings on you. I’m asking yours on him and if you love him.”

“So what if I do?” Anakin said snappishly. “Like I said, he doesn’t feel anything for me besides chaste Jedi camaraderie. Maybe a mild fondness. He’s my friend, and I’m glad to have that.”

“So you do,” Padmé said, and Anakin resisted the urge to facepalm, very nearly told her no, then choked on the words as it dawned on him how big of a lie it would be.

“Okay. Fine. I might have had a thing for him for years.” He could feel the angry burning flush of shame, of embarrassment when he finally said it, paired oddly with the cool rush of relief. He had never said it aloud. “It’s pathetic. I know.”

Padmé was quiet for a moment and Anakin felt torn between flinging himself out the window and demanding to know why she had torn that out of him if she was just going to—

“It’s not pathetic,” Padmé said. “You are not pathetic, Anakin. If you’ve been holding on to something like that for so long, that just means you’re serious about it.”

Anakin scoffed, trying to turn away from her. 

She touched his shoulder softly, stopping him. “Were you ever planning on saying anything? To him? Me? Anyone?”

“Hells no.” At his wife’s unimpressed look, he elaborated. “For the third time, it’s a completely one-sided emotion I’ve been trying to get rid of.”

“These things don’t just go away, Ani.” Padmé paused, doing that nervous lip-bite again. “And for the record, I would not call that love one-sided.”

He could feel his heart flutter upwards and roughly shoved it back down. “Don’t do that. Don’t say that. You don’t know him like I do.” 

Padmé pressed. “It’s ok that you do like him, you know? I meant what I said, I want you to be happy.”

“I’m happy with _you._”

“And I with you.”

“Then drop it, please.” Anakin met her beautiful gaze, trying to lose himself in the depths of her eyes. “The feelings will fade eventually, Pads. I’m good as I am, and I’m glad to have you both in my life exactly the way you are.” _Liar._

A soft sigh. “Alright. But if you change your mind, or if your feelings don’t ‘fade’—“ He opened his mouth to interrupt, but she spoke over him. “Let me know. We can work it out together. All of us. I love you, and I care about the things in your life that are important to you— and Obi Wan is important to you.”

Anakin was suddenly overwhelmed with love and affection for his amazing, beautiful, brilliant wife, that and an abrupt bone-deep tiredness. Reaching out, he gathered Padmé up in his arms and lay back down on the bed with closed eyes. “Thank you. I won’t change my mind, but thank you, for looking out for the both of us.” 

She hummed in acknowledgement, and he felt her snuggling in against his chest, but just as quickly a bolt of suspicion had him tensing up. “Wait a click. Do _you_ like him?”

Padmé shook with quiet snickers. “Oh, Ani. I don’t know yet. I don’t think so right now, but I’ll figure things out when you do.”

“Oh, okay.” He settled back down, feeling slightly more secure.

There was another lapse in conversation where he thought she might have drifted off, when her voice spoke up, a smile curling in it. “I won’t lie, you two together certainly wouldn’t be hard to look at.”

Anakin frowned. 

Wait a minute… 

“Padmé!” he squawked, scandalized.

Padmé just laughed again while he tried to push her off and hide from her under the covers for an eternity.

Hide from everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OVER A HUNDRED DAYS will give you _such a crick in the guilt complex..._
> 
> Hello everyone!!! I get leaving y'all on a cliffhanger for almost four months, then coming back and not even resolving the cliffhanger isn't the nicest thing for me to do, but aghhhh life just ran me over, backed up over me, then ran me over again. I had to do some _serious_ restructuring of how I wanted this story to go (if you notice at the top, there should now be an approximate number of chapters total) and..... it took time. This little two part interlude of flashbacks was always supposed to be part of it too, I'm just sorry about it happening to fall directly after the Hiatus From Hell.
> 
> Thank you SO SOOOOO much to everyone who read, commented, kudosed, everything'ed while I was inactive on this, y'all made my day, made me cry, motivated me to get my ass in gear and start writing again.
> 
> If you're still reading this from before, this chapter is dedicated to you, thank you. If you're a new face, glad to have ya along for the ride, I PROBABLY won't have so long a wait between updates again!
> 
> Toss a comment to your writer if you've got something to say, and try to keep your spirits up in quarantine!


	9. Memories (Part 2)

** _MESSAGE TRANSMISSION FREQUENCY: Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Amidala_ **

**Anakin:** How do you take care of a child

**Padmé:** Is this your way of saying you want children?

**Anakin:** What? NO.

**Anakin:** I mean, not in the middle of a war.

**Anakin:** Unless you want them?

**Anakin:** It’s totally fine if you do, I’m fine with kids, I don’t hate them or anything

**Anakin:** I like kids.

**Padmé:** Ani, I don’t want kids right now

**Anakin:** Oh. Ok.

**Padmé:** Someday yes, but it’s like you said, we’re in the middle of a war and there’s far too much going on.

**Anakin:** Yeah, haha 

**Anakin:** Someday sounds good.

**Padmé:** Do you want me to call you?

**Anakin:** Not in the best place for it right now.

Alright. Want to tell me why you’re asking me about childcare then?

**Anakin:** This

_[image of Anakin, arm stretched out to take the photo and Ahsoka, fast asleep. They are both sitting on the bench of a transport, Ahsoka slumped over into Anakin’s side with her face and lek smushed together up against his shoulder pauldron, mouth hanging open. Anakin looks constipated.]_

**Padmé:** I won’t lie, that’s kind of adorable. Is she from the Temple?

**Anakin:** It is NOT adorable, she’s drooling on me. 

**Anakin:** And the wise and illustrious Jedi Council has decided that it would be a brilliant idea to dump a Padawan on me in the middle of a military campaign and then say no takebacks.

**Anakin:** What’s their next grand plan, release a Master Yoda swimsuit calendar to raise money for the war effort?

**Padmé:** She’s your Padawan?!? Anakin, congratulations! This is a big deal! What’s her name?

**Anakin:** Yeah, a Padawan IS a big deal, so I have no clue why the hells the Council decided to trust me with her. I barely know how to take care of myself, why should I be in charge of a fourteen year old?!

**Padmé:** Now you’re talking nonsense. You always took care of me when I was in danger, and you don’t have a problem with being assigned to take care of an entire army division. I love you Ani, but you practically over-worry about anyone who’s close to you. You’ll take care of her.

**Anakin:** That’s different. Yeah I can fight. Yeah I can protect. Sure I know strategy. But I can’t teach, be any kind of example for a kid to learn how to be a “proper Jedi” and all that poodoo. I’m literally the worst choice, and she’s already headstrong and doesn’t listen. I could just be making things worse!

**Padmé:** Headstrong and doesn’t listen? Sounds like you’re getting a taste of your own medicine, love…

**Anakin:** Ha ha. You sound like Obi Wan. 

**Anakin:** Speaking of, that bastard’s probably the one who set me up in the first place. I thought HE was the one getting a replacement apprentice right up until Ahsoka told us she was assigned to me

**Padmé:** So her name’s Ahsoka then…

**Anakin:** Ahsoka Tano, fourteen, too smart for her own good and no sense of self-preservation. We nearly died like, ten times the first couple of days I had her. 

**Anakin:** I’m gonna get her killed.

**Padmé:** I highly doubt that.

**Anakin:** How do you know?!? I told her I’d train her because it’s not her fault she got dumped on me and I’m going to try my best, but again: professional disaster magnet here, hello, how are you? How can she learn from someone who doesn’t know what he’s doing?

**Padmé:** Again, from what I’m hearing, she sounds a lot like you. Maybe you were paired together because you have a different way of doing things. Maybe the Council thinks you’re the only one who can understand her?

**Anakin:** They don’t understand me. I don’t think they’re that insightful.

**Padmé:** I think I’m pretty insightful. Do you trust me?

**Anakin:** Always. But you don’t know the full situation.

**Padmé:** I know my husband. I know you look after everyone put in your care to the best of your abilities. I may not know the Jedi as well, but I know you wouldn’t be a General or even a Knight if you weren’t considered trustworthy and brave and capable.

**Anakin:** Pads…

**Padmé:** I believe in you. You can do this. You definitely know how to work in a team, and as long as you and Ahsoka get along with each other, you should have no problem. 

**Padmé:** You ARE getting along, right?

**Anakin:** Enough for her to drool on me, apparently. She also likes to call me “Skyguy” in front of the men.

**Anakin:** Don’t laugh

**Padmé:** !!!!

**Padmé:** She gave you a nickname???

**Anakin:** Yeah, doesn’t mean much. She makes faces whenever I call her “Snips”

**Anakin:** Because she’s snippy

**Anakin:** It’s better than Skyguy anyway.

**Padmé:** Well I like it because that makes me Skygirl. 

**Anakin:** Padmé no.

**Padmé:** Do you and Obi Wan have cute nicknames for each other too?

**Anakin:** Uh, “Pain in the ass”?

**Anakin:** “Nerfherder”?

**Anakin:** “I’ve never seen this man before in my life, I have no clue why he did [insert dumb thing here]”

**Padmé:** Alright, alright, I was just wondering! Also, I can’t picture Obi Wan calling you a nerfherder.

**Anakin:** Maybe not, but he definitely thinks it. I kind of am.

**Anakin:** I guess we’re not really the nicknames type

**Padmé:** Fair enough. Does HE think you can train Ahsoka?

**Anakin:** Like I said, pretty sure it was his damn idea.

**Anakin:** But yeah, he does. He actually told me he couldn’t think of anyone better

**Anakin:** Which is nice of him, even if he’s probably just saying that to win me over

**Padmé:** Maybe you should consider believing him… 

* * *  
**_MESSAGE TRANSMISSION FREQUENCY: Anakin Skywalker and Obi Wan Kenobi_**

**Anakin:** Morning sunshine

**Obi Wan:** Are you feeling alright?

**Anakin:** Yeah, that sounds weird to me too.

**Anakin:** Sorry, I was just wondering, do we have any nicknames?

**Obi Wan:** Do you want me to call you Skyguy too?

**Anakin:** Please Do Not.

**Anakin:** That wasn’t why I was asking

**Obi Wan:** Of course

**Obi Wan:** Though don’t you have a cute name for her as well?

**Anakin:** Excuse me? Cute?

**Obi Wan:** I’m not criticizing you for it. I’m glad you’re bonding with each other.

**Anakin:** Pff. More like bothering each other.

**Obi Wan:** I’m sure.

**Obi Wan:** I really am though. 

**Obi Wan:** Glad. Glad that you’re getting along with her as well as you are.

**Obi Wan:** I knew you would do great.

**Anakin:** Haha, yeah

**Obi Wan:** I mean it.

**Anakin:** Well then thanks.

**Anakin:** Thank you.

**Anakin:** I’m doing my best.

**Anakin:** So we don’t have any nicknames of our own, huh?

**Obi Wan:** Not that I’m aware?

**Anakin:** I bet I could come up with some…

**Obi Wan:** Please Do Not.

**Anakin:** Coward. Are they really not your thing then?

**Obi Wan:** It just isn’t anything we’ve ever done before— unless you’re counting your refusal to address any of the other Masters besides myself by their proper title.

**Anakin:** That’s completely different

**Anakin:** It’s a sign of respect.

**Obi Wan:** You should respect all of your fellow Jedi, Anakin.

**Anakin:** They’ll get my respect when they earn it.

**Obi Wan:** That’s not how it works.

**Anakin:** That’s how life works.

**Anakin:** And I respect you.

**Obi Wan:** Anakin

**Anakin:** I wouldn’t be where I am today without you, Master.

**Anakin:** I won’t forget that.

* * *  
**_MESSAGE TRANSMISSION FREQUENCY: Satine Kryze and Padmé Amidala_**

**Satine:** The absolute audacity

**Satine:** Apologies for the language, but what in the hells is your Senate thinking?!

**Padmé:** It is your Senate too, technically.

**Satine:** Not with those accusations they’re throwing at me!

**Padmé:** My coalition and I spoke against it. It violates everything you’ve championed, everything you’ve set up with the Council of Neutral Systems. I understand there’s sketchy reasoning, but I don’t get how people could think this of you.

**Padmé:** I’m so sorry

**Satine:** I’m furious, frankly speaking. I don’t even know what to say, this is an outrage.

**Padmé:** When someone wanted to occupy my planet, I had to go to the Senate myself to defend myself and my world. I don’t want to tell you how to rule, but if you have the time, I think you’ll find more support here on Coruscant than the back and forth you’ve been doing so far.

**Padmé:** You’ll have my support, anyway.

**Satine:** You know what? 

**Satine:** I might just go. I’ve already started to gather proof.

**Satine:** I won’t let those overbearing bastards take me down without a fight.

**Satine:** No offense to you, darling. You and what you do are one of the only reasons the Republic still has any of my good will left

* * *  
**_MESSAGE TRANSMISSION FREQUENCY: UNIDENTIFIED SENDER and Satine Kryze_**

**UNKNOWN:** I’m the one being sent to Mandalore.

**Satine:** Who is this.

**UNKNOWN:** Obi Wan. You still have me blocked, so I found another device.

**UNKNOWN:** Proof it’s me being that time it took me an hour and a half to get you out of a ship vent nineteen years ago. And we were one of three people on that ship.

**UNKNOWN:** Apologies, but that’s all I could think of at the moment.

**UNKNOWN:** Good day.

**Satine:** Hang on a moment

_(Your access point has been BLOCKED. You will no longer be able to SEND DIRECT MESSAGES, SEND VOCAL COMMUNICATIONS, or SEND HOLOGRAPHIC COMMUNICATIONS to UNIDENTIFIED SENDER)_

* * *  
Obi Wan threw something at Anakin’s face, Anakin barely grabbing it away in time. “You dropped your commlink.”

_Huh?_ Anakin examined what was definitely his comm in his hand, not even remembering losing it. “What were you doing with it?”

Obi Wan paused on his way out the door, and for a moment there was a blip of something odd wavering through their Force Bond. “Nothing, simply returning it to you. You should be more careful.”

* * *  
“Hello, you!” Padmé raised a wine glass to Satine, warm brown eyes tinted blue by the holoprojection. “It’s so nice to have dinner with you now that you’re on Coruscant.”

Satine snorted, raising her own glass in return at the wavering cyan image. “Please excuse any slowness for my being rather tired, but I am very happy to see you as well. I’m so sorry we had to cancel our original outing and have dinner over holo instead.”

“Satine. You’ve already had an assassination attempt while here,” Padmé said firmly. “Your safety comes first. I’m just glad to be in your company.”

“Bollocks to assassins,” Satine mumbled through the rim of her glass despite herself, causing a surprised giggle from Padmé. “I do have a plan to clear up this whole false video nonsense though,” she added.

Padmé’s lips pursed. “Please don’t do anything rash. I can help you with whatever you need—“

“I won’t be in danger, dear,” Satine interrupted, comforted by her friend’s worry. “My plans are solid. Trust me.”

Padmé’s gaze narrowed as Satine blinked innocently.

Thankfully, Padmé didn’t pursue in questioning Satine’s plan that might be a tad more reckless than she let on. “So, how was your time under Jedi protection?”

A pleasant burn ran its way across Satine’s skin. _That man._ Trying to mask any emotions on her face, she shrugged. “I’d say infuriatingly helpful.”

An elegant brow rose. “Really?” Padmé asked. “Do tell.” There was a strange glimmer of interest in her eyes, and with a frigid pang, Satine abruptly remembered the easy way Padmé and Obi Wan had greeted each other earlier at the Senate building, and flashed back to even longer ago when she had jokingly warned Obi Wan off charming his latest assignment and his vague answer.

Cautiously, Satine told her story starting from when Obi Wan arrived, doing her best despite the flowing alcohol to keep any revealing information private. Padmé nodded along and asked questions.

Specific questions about the Jedi.

Not about Satine’s, however… 

_(He’s not_ yours, _you idiot.)_

Something familiar prickling at her spine at the way Padmé mentioned Obi Wan’s partner, Satine asked, “So, have you had any more adventures with either of them?”

Padmé honest to gods flushed prettily.

More wine was imbibed and Padmé told her about her prior run ins with The Team.

Her words were neat and polite and far too careful for someone like Satine who had been saying them for years, who had known Padmé for years.

Satine knew all too well the type of secret hidden under those kinds of verbal deflections

Obi Wan was right, Satine thought with mild concern. A Jedi had indeed charmed her friend, but it was not him.

_Oh, foolish girl. Did I not tell you to run?_

* * *  
**_MESSAGE TRANSMISSION FREQUENCY: Satine Kryze and Obi Wan Kenobi_**

**Satine:** I know it was presumptuous of me to expect you to see me off, I know you’re busy, but I never got another chance to thank you for everything.

**Obi Wan:** You unblocked me I see...

**Satine:** don’t

**Satine:** You blocked me on whatever other device you used.

**Obi Wan:** Anakin’s. I borrowed it, but I didn’t want him taking advantage of having your contact information. It was for you.

**Satine:** Did he know you used it?

**Obi Wan:** He doesn’t mind when I borrow things.

**Satine:** That’s a no. What if I want to speak to him now?

**Obi Wan:** I can pass a message.

**Satine:** You’re just worried we’ll start trading stories about you.

**Obi Wan:** Untrue. The pair of you hardly spoke in person anyway.

**Satine:** I was rather preoccupied if you hadn’t noticed.

**Obi Wan:** I might have.

**Satine:** Funny. But actually, your apprentice and some of his men did come to see my ship leave, he was interesting.

**Obi Wan:** I swear I told him to stay on his best behavior. I’m sorry if he offended.

**Satine:** He didn’t say much at all, actually. I wonder if he lives up to your stories. The young girl with him was nice, I’m guessing that was your apprentice you told me about 

**Obi Wan:** His, not mine. But yes, that’s her. She’s great.

**Satine:** From what you told me about her during your stay recently, she seemed just as much yours, apologies. Still disappointed I hadn’t heard anything of her up until recently.

**Obi Wan:** In my defence, you blocked me.

**Satine:** Yes, about that.

**Satine:** I might not agree with you

**Satine:** But recent events have made me realize that i’d much rather disagree and talk to you than ignore you and have it be the last time

**Satine:** I apologize for any rudeness, and would like to have our conversations again. I’ve missed you.

**Obi Wan:** I’d like that

**Obi Wan:** Thank you, I mean. 

**Obi Wan:** I’m always happy to see my friends safe.

**Obi Wan:** And I like talking to you as well.

**Obi Wan:** Very much so.

**Satine:** Do you wish to talk about what happened then?

**Obi Wan:** About what?

**Satine:** I don’t know, maybe everything that happened between us in the past couple of weeks?!

**Obi Wan:** Did something happen?

**Satine:** Ben.

**Obi Wan:** I don’t want to hurt you.

**Satine:** Can I call you?

**Obi Wan:** Maybe later

* * *  
Padmé watched in concern as Anakin’s speeder nearly veered right into her balcony, her husband almost missing the landing and falling to his death as he tripped out of it. He darted right for her and grabbed her by the shoulders, looking her seriously in the eye.

“Angel.”

“Hello, Ani, how was your day? Mine was fine, thanks for asking.”

_”Padmé,”_ Anakin said dramatically, sweeping Padmé abruptly off her feet and into his lap as he plopped them both onto the floor. He was still staring at her, a slightly stunned expression on his face. “You are not going to believe what happened during the Mandalore mission.”

_Mandalore… oh,_ Padmé thought, suddenly realizing she may be privy to some outside information her husband did not know yet. She cleared her throat, smoothing a crease in Anakin’s robe. “Yes, how did it go? Satine’s my friend, I hope everything was alright.”

“Well I know it sounds crazy, but I think your friend had a— a _thing_ with my Master.”

Anakin's adorably confused face was doing its scrunched up expression that Padmé couldn’t resist kissing, to his petulant grunt in response. She knew she could offer some information to make him less confused, but first…

Well, she had definitely picked up on some things from Satine, but Obi Wan’s intense concern those two meetings they had shared with the Duchess in the Senate were very new and very interesting to watch, and Padmé could hardly be blamed for her curiosity.

“Tell me everything,” she commanded.

* * *  
Anakin found him in the meditation chamber a week after Satine’s visit.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” 

Obi Wan jumped at the absurdity of the question. “Hmm?” Anakin had been acting rather oddly since the Mandalore mission, but he hadn’t tried to press Obi Wan for more details about Satine since Obi Wan had brushed him off the first time, thank the Force.

“You know,” Anakin shuffled his feet, alternating between staring at them and giving Obi Wan a Look. “Certain _things_ that happened with you recently? That looked kind of romantic?”

Well, he hadn’t pressed until now. Obi Wan was honestly rather impressed by his friend’s display of patience.

He ran a hand over his face, stifling a sigh. “There’s nothing to talk about.” _Why do my personal relationships matter so much to him? Doesn’t he want more space from me?_

“Hmm,” said Anakin, his half of the Bond bubbling with an apprehensive emotion Obi Wan couldn’t quite understand.

“I mean it,” Obi Wan told him, annoyed.

“If you say so…”

“I do!” 

Not wanting to discuss this, not with Anakin, not while he was still trying to regain his emotional center, Obi Wan came up with an idea. “You know, you can talk to me about things too, right?”

At Anakin’s confused blink, Obi Wan elaborated. _Oh yes, you’re such the romance expert, aren’t you?_ “Like for example, if I noticed something, ah, ‘romantic’ happening with you?” 

It was a low blow, but Obi Wan had been silently watching for over a year and a half now and it was rather amusing to watch Anakin go charmingly pink and stutter out, “Uh. I have no idea what you’re talking about, that’s deflection, what you’re doing. Also, I just remembered something I had to do, I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Wait, Obi Wan hadn’t wanted him to _leave…_

Why did the most important people in his life have to be so complicated?

* * *  
**_MESSAGE TRANSMISSION FREQUENCY: Satine Kryze and Padmé Amidala_**

**Satine:** You’re coming to visit me! Off the record, I’m very excited!

**Padmé:** Me too! Fingers crossed this will be a relaxing occasion for everyone!

* * *  
**_INCOMING AUDIO COMMUNICATIONS TRANSMISSION FROM: Obi Wan Kenobi_**

“…so yes, that was what happened on Padmés latest visit. As you can tell, my hosting skills are unparalleled.”

“That was… certainly something. It sounds to me like you could use some help.”

“Which is partially why I’m calling, dear. I’ve put a request through to the Council, but I’m honestly not sure if your lot could even send someone over, it’s a bit of a specific ask.”

“Oh?”

“I’m not asking you for favoritism, obviously, but I guess I’m just asking if it’s even worth it to make an official request?”

“It’s worth it. Risking saying anything else, I can tell you it’s worth it to try. I’ll see what I can do.”

* * *  
**_MESSAGE TRANSMISSION FREQUENCY: Satine Kryze and Padmé Amidala_**

**Satine:** I hope you’ve returned safely home by now, and I apologize for everything being rather on fire during your visit.

**Satine:** I promise visiting dignitaries to my home are not usually tasked with uncovering black market crime rings.

**Padmé:** Oh no, it wasn’t that bad! I had fun helping you.

**Satine:** Padmé.

**Padmé:** Honestly, Satine. It was my pleasure, and it was lovely to see you again.

**Satine:** It was lovely to see you too.

**Padmé:** Hey, did you find a way your government would accept any outside help to deal with the suspicions we discussed? Particularly help of the robed kind?

**Satine:** Ha. Yes I did, actually. 

**Satine:** It’s a schooling position, which makes sense given what happened, but I’m not sure if the Jedi Council would spare one of their younger students, which would be necessary. I asked Obi Wan and he gave me a maybe?

**Padmé:** Hmm. 

**Padmé:** Let me try, I was there and I gave testimony to the Senate. I can give my support.

**Padmé:** I even think I know a young Jedi trainee who can help you, and the Council owes me a favor, so to speak

* * *  
**_MESSAGE TRANSMISSION FREQUENCY: Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Amidala_**

**Padmé:** Hey, could you see if Ahsoka’s not busy in the near future?

**Anakin:** Uh. we were actually going to be sent out on assignment???

**Padmé:** Oh, but something’s come up and I could use some assistance.

**Anakin:** Do you need me??? What’s wrong??????

**Padmé:** Nothing’s wrong with me, but I’ve got a friend in need who needs someone closer to Ahsoka’s age to come in and help out.

**Padmé:** It really would be a huge help to me, Ani. 

**Anakin:** Alright, I'm listening...

* * *  
“You wouldn’t mind going without your apprentice for a couple of days, would you?” Obi Wan’s voice stopped Anakin in the hallway

_Everyone’s looking for Snips right now,_ Anakin thought in bewilderment. _First Padmé, now this?_

“What do you need her for?” he asked.

Wait. If Padmé needed Ahsoka as a favor for Duchess Satine, and now _Obi Wan_ was asking…

“Mandalore seeks assistance,” Obi Wan told him, a spark in his eye warning Anakin from saying anything.

_Ha. I karking knew it._

“There’s Republic support behind their request, and the current idea is for the Jedi to send a Padawan there as a student lecturer, and I hope you don’t mind me volunteering Ahsoka.”

Anakin arched an eyebrow, but Obi Wan was doing that intense staring thing where he looked really earnest and Anakin would end up feeling like a tool if he didn’t help him with whatever he needed. “I couldn’t think of anyone better,” Obi Wan added solemnly.

“Stop flattering me. And Ahsoka.” Anakin was not at all secretly flattered. Obi Wan cocked his head innocently at him and dammit, he had barely gotten a “maybe” past Padmé. Anakin actually _needed_ Ahsoka’s help with something, why should he— 

“Fine. She should be excited for a solo mission,” his traitorous mouth said.

Obi Wan’s smile was warm and bright. “Thank you. I knew I could count on you both.”

“Yeah yeah,” Anakin fake-grumbled, wondering where the hells his backbone had gone and if those two had planned this. He could only hold out under so much pressure.

As Obi Wan turned to leave, Anakin forced himself away from watching him go and pulled out his comm to message Rex and reconfigure the original plans. 

Despite the double poaching of his Padawan, something in the back of his brain was still trilling contentedly, though. He chalked it up to being kind of an asshole with few people he liked who actually liked him. Being able to make people he cared about happy felt… nice.

* * *  
**_MESSAGE TRANSMISSION FREQUENCY: Satine Kryze and Padmé Amidala_**

**Padmé:** I got you some help! 

**Satine:** I just heard. Thank you ever so much for going out of your way.

**Padmé:** No problem, honestly, I know the girl they’re sending, she’s assisted me before! I can’t speak highly enough of her.

**Satine:** She trains under Generals Kenobi and Skywalker, correct? 

**Padmé:** Yes, she is a part of their little team. 

**Padmé:** She’s a sweetie, you’ll like her

**Satine:** I truly owe you and Obi Wan for getting my request through so promptly

**Padmé:** Obi Wan?

**Padmé:** Yes. I suppose having him on your side does make things move faster as well.

* * *  
**_MESSAGE TRANSMISSION FREQUENCY: Satine Kryze and Obi Wan Kenobi_**

**Satine:** You have my thanks for getting me assistance so quickly, it’s much appreciated.

**Obi Wan:** I had nothing to do with it, you needed help.

**Satine:** Oh, so Padmé was the only one to specifically suggest Ahsoka Tano, who you have certainly never heard of?

**Obi Wan:** She was not

**Obi Wan:** I mean, she wasn’t the *only* one.

**Obi Wan:** I did suggest Ahsoka, she’s skilled and competent, and I know her well.

**Obi Wan:** But it wasn’t completely my decision, is what I’m saying.

**Obi Wan:** It’s nice you also found the good Senator's support helpful though

**Satine:** It was! I’m very excited to meet your apprentice.

**Obi Wan:** Again, she’s not mine.

**Satine:** Regardless, she sounds like a good girl. I hope she can help.

* * *  
**_MESSAGE TRANSMISSION FREQUENCY: Satine Kryze and Obi Wan Kenobi_**

**Obi Wan:** So how are you doing?

**Satine:** Well enough. 

**Satine:** I’m grateful again for your help, and for Ahsoka especially; her competence saved a great deal of people.

**Obi Wan:** I could tell from her mission report.

**Obi Wan:** Shock collars?

**Satine:** I’ve felt worse; it wasn’t that big a deal for me. 

**Satine:** Korkie is far less used to them than I am, I’m glad he doesn’t appear to be injured.

**Obi Wan:** As am I. I’m sorry he had to experience that. I’m sorry you both did.

**Satine:** Ahsoka didn’t let it happen for too long. Although, she did seem far too comfortable with the art of violence for my taste, but I know I can’t hold her accountable for it; she is a child after all

**Obi Wan:** I thought you were thankful she saved people

**Satine:** I am. 

**Satine:** I just wish things could be different.

**Obi Wan:** As do I. My childhood was far from perfect, but I admit I would be happier if we could raise her in that environment as opposed to a civil war. Ahsoka is a survivor, she adapts with the situation she is given.

**Satine:** Sounds like her Master to me.

**Obi Wan:** He’s definitely a survivor. He’s taught her well.

**Satine:** I was talking about you, actually.

**Obi Wan:** I’ve said it before, Sati, she’s not mine.

**Satine:** And yet all the evidence I’ve heard points to the contrary, my dear. She told me some stories of you and her and Anakin while she was here. 

**Satine:** It’s good you have your own little unit to look out for you.

**Obi Wan:** We’re Jedi. That’s what we do.

**Satine:** Yes, well. 

**Satine:** Just a reminder that it’s good to have family. 

* * *  
Obi Wan looked up as Anakin poked his head into his quarters. It was late and his partner smelled of drink. 

How he still managed to look lazily beautiful in his dishevelment, Obi Wan could never say.

Anakin pointed a crooked finger and said, “Stop teaching Ahsoka how to cheat at cards.”

“Me? I would never do such a thing.”

“Banthashit. She played me through three hands before I caught her.”

“Someone else could have taught her.”

“No way, she absolutely gets that from you.”

_She gets that from you…_ sounded uncomfortably domestic. Obi Wan felt his gut churn. “I’m sorry for being such a negative influence,” he said stiffly. 

He received a prod through the (still unsecured, why?) bond. “Don’t be.” Anakin threw him a wink, eyes glittering. “I’m worse. It’s good she has a positive figure to look up to.”

He left before Obi Wan could say anything.

* * *  
**_MESSAGE TRANSMISSION FREQUENCY: Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Amidala_**

**Anakin:** Padsssss.

**Anakin:** I neejd toicome over tinight

**Padmé:** Ani? What’s wrong? 

**Padmé:** You’re typing strange.

**Padmé:** Are you hurt? Are you drunk?

**Anakin:** JNEEd to hug hold ouu

**Padmé:** I could barely read that

**Anakin:** Their was an naccident.......

**Anakin:** Hes gone

**Padmé:** I’m calling you.

* * *  
**_INCOMING AUDIO COMMUNICATIONS TRANSMISSION FROM: Padmé Amidala_**

“Hello, Satine.” 

“Padmé! How are you? “

“…”

“Alright, something is wrong. How can I help?”

“You haven’t heard the news.”

“No, I have not. I don’t like beating around the bush, Padmé, you know this. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“I sent you some information. Please read it.”

“Or you could just tell— alright, fine. My datapad is here”

“I’m so sorry, Satine.”

“Gods above Padmé, kindly cease with the dread! You’re acting as if someone had—“

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…Satine?”

_[Connection ended.]_

* * *  
**_MESSAGE TRANSMISSION FREQUENCY: Satine Kryze and Padmé Amidala_**

**Padmé:** How are you doing?

**Satine:** What do you think?

**Padmé:** Do you want to talk about it?

**Satine:** No I do not. 

**Padmé:** Are you coming to the funeral?

**Satine:** Yes.

**Padmé:** Would you like to stay with me while on planet?

**Satine:** I wouldn’t want to impose.

**Padmé:** You need someone right now. You’re not the only friend of his, and I think we should all stick together during this.

**Satine:** It won’t make anything better.

**Satine:** Forgive me.

**Satine:** I would love to stay with you if you would have me.

* * *  
He was so cold, Padmé thought, staring at the straight, rigid line of his back on the other side of the bed. 

So close, and yet almost an ocean away.

He had barely spoken since it had happened.

The funeral was today, and she was hosting a get-together afterwards for those he had left behind.

She felt guilty Anakin would not be able to stay the next night, but when she had told him of this, he had simply nodded, saying that he hadn’t been planning on staying anyway. He had business back at the Temple and he had been away for too long.

He was already so bad at his job, he said. He would not fail again.

She hated how blank he had sounded, stare a thousand yards away.

Some part of her felt as if she had lost her husband; as if he had fallen with his friend as well.

* * *  
It was funny, Anakin thought faintly, seeing the last light go up from the tomb as it was sealed in.

He always thought they would have died together.

Inside, a part of him wept that they did, missing piece of himself burning on the pyre in front of him too.

* * *  
She had drank far too much, Padmé thought, staring worriedly at the pale woman slumped over her couch, lazily watching the flash of city lights and traffic off the balcony, bottle dangling out of her hand.

3PO wandered up to her, letting her know the time and that the last of the other guests had left. Padmé thanked him and made her way over to Satine, hoping to gently suggest she get some sleep.

The shattered, broken look that she was met with— near identical to the one she had seen on Anakin’s face for the past couple of days —was almost more than Padmé could take.

The wavering blue gaze suddenly solidified, even as a voice rasped at her from crying. “Yours,” Satine murmured.

“Mine?”

“Do you love him?”

Now was not the time to talk about this, but Padmé felt the words flowing out of her anyway, because how could she not know what Satine meant?

“I do,” she whispered, thinking of everything her and Anakin had gone through. 

(How many of those things Obi Wan had been there for as well…)

The red-stricken eyes hardened. “Look at me, Padmé.”

Padmé hadn’t taken her eyes off of her. She nodded anyway, holding that gaze.

“This is your future,” Satine hissed at her. Padmé recoiled, only an inch, but feeling the words strike deep. 

“This is how it ends when you love one of them.” Satine’s words were dreadful. “This is what happens. Do you understand that?”

“You can’t think like that,” Padmé whispered back, trying not to choke on her words. She ignored the part of her inside that vehemently agreed, the part that had been whispering in her nightmares for the past two years of watching a different funeral pyre, of never seeing a different shade of blue eyes again.

“I _didn’t_ think like that. And it damn well happened, didn’t it?” Satine gave a bitter laugh. “He wasn’t even mine to lose, we had promised to give each other up. But it happened anyway and now here I sit a fucking mess, and there you are, and yours is alive for now, in this precious moment, for who the hells knows how much longer.”

“Don’t—“

“So I will repeat myself,” Satine said. “Do you love him? Are you prepared to love him even when you now know what will happen to you?”

“It won’t,” Padmé found herself biting out, something that couldn’t be fear curdling sour in her gut. “It will _not_, Satine.”

_”Do you love him?”_

“Yes!” Padmé burst out, frightened. “We love each other. He promised he would always come back, we have vows!”

She bit her tongue on the last words, horrified with herself. Satine wasn’t in her right mind right now and was hurting and needed Padmé's support and she had just— perhaps Satine hadn’t caught the true meaning but no, there was new understanding in those eyes, and to Padmé’s dismay, the other woman began to laugh.

“Satine—“

A slender hand came up to cup Padmé’s cheek where she knelt, soft thumb brushing gently over her cheekbone. 

“So yours made you a promise, hm?” Satine’s eyes on Padmé took her back to their first chess match all those years ago, eyes staring calculatingly across the board as she tried to figure Padmé out. 

Padmé had learned much from her.

Perhaps too much.

A tear rolled down Satine’s cheek, night lights turning it golden. “Mine never made me one of those. I never let him.” She chucked bitterly, sniffing. “Perhaps if I had, he would still be alive. Perhaps many other things would be different. I should have let us be selfish…”

Padmé was at a loss of words as Satine's tone echoed what she had been muttering after the funeral earlier, something about wishing she had “said it” as she sipped from a glass and leaned heavily into the space of a concerned-looking Bail Organa. Anakin had tensed from the silent mountain at Padmé's side, peering out from under his hood at the other woman with the sharpest gaze Padmé had seen from him since the death happened.

“He really loved her,” her husband had murmured, voice dead. “Remember what I told you about their conversation during the bomber incident? He would have left for her. He would have been safe.”

Padmé had had absolutely no idea what to say to this. She had tried subtly slipping her hand under Anakin’s robe sleeve to grasp his fingers, but he had shrunk away from her. Had barely touched her since it happened either.

He was crumbling and Padmé felt useless and if there was one thing she could not take, it was feeling useless. He couldn’t be strong right now, so she had to be.

She felt useless now, and all she could think to do was to gently ease the drink out of Satine’s hands and brush the tears off Satine’s face with a gentle thumb as she stared out past Padmé’s shoulder, shaking quietly, breaking even more so.

“I’m here,” Padmé murmured, gently touching their foreheads together. “I’m here. I’m so, so sorry.”

The words were empty comfort, but what else was one supposed to say to someone who had suffered great loss?

Satine’s sudden grip on her arm was viselike as she leaned into Padmé’s embrace. “Don’t say that,” Satine whispered. “Don’t say you’re here when one day you won’t be.”

Padmé clutched her tighter in response. 

She could be the strong one for everyone who needed it.

* * *  
After about three days’ worth of the silent treatment, Anakin was the last person Obi Wan expected to see slumped over his couch when he entered his quarters after a late-night Council meeting ran late.

The smell of alcohol was in the air, and one look at the room showed him that his good liquor cabinet had been broken into. Obi Wan wondered idly if that had been the goal, revenge in the form of theft only for his lightweight of a friend to fall asleep at the scene of the crime. 

However, when Obi Wan started moving forward to shake Anakin awake and gently guide him out of the room while he was still in his happy drunken state and unable to remember that he hated Obi Wan, the other man jerked awake with a snort.

“Obi Wan!” Anakin slurred at him with a crooked, dopey smile, and the force of it on him combined with a clumsy, playful twining of Force signatures that he had been missing for weeks on end nearly took Obi Wan’s knees out. 

“Sorry about the mess.” Anakin waved lazily at the scattered bottles and glasses. “‘mean, not _that_ sorry ‘cause I’m pissed at you, but.” He gave a half-shrug and made to melt back into the couch and Obi Wan hurried forward to catch his shoulders before he could nod off. He resolutely ignored how good Anakin’s warm weight felt in his arms. “No, Anakin. It’s late, I should get you back to your room.”

“No way.” Anakin was sitting up straight now, grabbing Obi Wan's hands that were still on him and using them to pull him down onto the couch next to him. “We need to have a… a conversation,” he stressed, squinting as he tried to stare Obi Wan in the eye.

Obi Wan took a deep breath. He had been wanting the same thing since his return, knew they _needed_ to have one, but. “When you’re sober, Anakin. It won’t mean anything if we do this now.”

Anakin shook his head rapidly, curls bouncing around his face. “Nope. Sober Me doesn’t know how to talk to you yet because he still wants to do things to your face.” Obi Wan blinked in concerned confusion, but Anakin wasn’t stopping. “I’ll start talking and then Sober Me will just have to catch up in the morning.”

Obi Wan tried again. “I—“

“I want to hate you,” Anakin told him so seriously that if not for the buzz around his aura Obi Wan would have thought he was sober. “I want to hate you so bad because what you did hurt me. It hurt me a lot, and I don’t want people who hurt me in my life.”

Inside of him, Obi Wan felt something start to break.

“But I can’t hate you, because you never hurt me before, not really. You were safe. You and Padmé” Anakin’s eyes were growing brighter and he let go of one of Obi Wan’s hands to run the back of his own across his face. “I was the fuckup. I’ve hurt so many people, done so many things.”

“Anakin, no—“

“I was mad at you for keeping it a secret and hurting me, but _Force,_ if you knew my secrets—“

“_What—?_“

“Sith, you’d hate me. You’d hate me so much more for what I’ve done than I could ever hate you for this— kark knows I probably deserved this and, and you were just trying to _help_, the Chancellor said—“

“Anakin, _stop._” Obi Wan had both hands back on Anakin’s shoulders again, horrified to feel his own cheeks just as wet as Anakin’s were. Emotions were flying all over the room and the Bond was going haywire, Obi Wan prayed to the Force his neighbors weren’t getting buffeted with any of the feedback. “You must calm yourself!”

“And you can’t do this again!” Anakin exploded, crying openly now. “Force it would be so much easier if I just hated you and didn’t care about what happened to you, I know that’s what you want, I know a good— a _good_ Jedi wouldn’t care. But I don’t and I can’t, I can’t hate you, so you _can’t_ do something like that to me again, do you hear me?! I don’t kriffing care who tells you to do what, whose life is in danger, I just— don’t leave me like that, Obi Wan.”

Obi Wan was frozen in place while Anakin was all but collapsed in his arms, mind whirling in a pained fog. _I thought… I thought you_ did _hate me…_ He had spent this entire time, these long, disastrous few days that felt like a month, trying to settle back in, seeing the various people in his life acting from frantic relief to downright cold, but this…

Choking on emotion and affection, burning hot and feeling like he was being pricked by dozens of tiny needles in various places, Obi Wan found his arms wrapping solidly around Anakin, holding him close, making quiet shushing noises while the other man cried.

“You _can’t_ leave, Obi Wan.”

“I won’t, Anakin. I _won’t._”

Anakin fell asleep like that, Obi Wan sitting motionless on the couch and part of him feeling dead from the emotional drain, the other part never wanting to leave this moment again. Reluctantly, he slipped out from underneath Anakin, arranging him carefully on the couch and draping his own robe over him for warmth.

Obi Wan then went to pull out his meditation mat, placing it by the couch and choosing to immerse himself in the Force’s embrace and the soft humming of the Force Bond in lieu of troubled sleep.

He must have lost himself in the Force for longer than he thought, for the next thing he knew he was reemerging to the smell of tea and the feel of the sunrise slitting through the window blinds in stripes across his skin.

He opened his eyes, and there was Anakin, cross-legged across from him and face scrunched up like it did whenever he tried meditating, two cups of tea between them.

Obi Wan, despite himself, felt frightened.

Anakin’s eyes cracked open and upon seeing Obi Wan, settled into a distinctive glare.

Obi Wan held his breath, waiting for the snarl.

Anakin’s jaw tensed, but when the words left his mouth, they were quiet. “So I might not have been as drunk last night as I let on.”

“Oh?” was all Obi Wan could manage to get out, risking a brush against the Bond and finding it solid and running like a bubbling brook.

“Yeah.” Anakin cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. He exhaled in a huff, meeting Obi Wan’s gaze with lake-blue eyes. “I’m not going to forget it. But I wish I could, I don’t like thinking about it. So I’m going to bury it, if you don’t mind. Is that alright?”

There was a tentative smile on his face, and with the rising sun, it was one of the loveliest things Obi Wan had ever seen. “I don’t mind if you don’t,” he whispered.

He didn’t want them to break apart either.

* * *  
When his comm frequency flashed its way across her device, the sudden rage she was filled with was enough she felt able to level her entire palace. Whoever had dared attempt this cruel joke on her— 

Then she opened it up and there was _his face._

Alive.

She froze.

The face stared right at her, familiar eyes glittering in— was that hesitation? Fear. _Remorse_. More open than she had ever seen it.

The ghost’s mouth opened and his voice came out.

“Hello, Satine.”

Something in her surged, some confused tangle of emotions. She couldn’t handle this right now. 

She hung up.

He didn’t call back.

A day’s worth of distracted work, one small dinner that had come right back up, and far more drinks than she knew she should be allowing herself later, she worked up the courage to call the number herself. It was almost bedtime, and she knew she would not be able to sleep. Not until she knew—

His face appeared again.

_Those eyes…_

The ghost’s mouth opened once more, but this time she cut it off before she could risk hearing something that would break her again. She cursed herself for being as damned fragile as she was. “Prove it to me. Prove to me that it’s you.” 

Ob— the ghost paused, lips pursing. Satine felt ready to fly apart and was five seconds from ending the call again, unable to handle it.

_”There’s a memory we both were the only ones were there for.”_ She felt sparks shoot up her spine at the lilt of that distinctively spoken Mando’a, _almost_ perfect, no accent to be seen except for the slightest, slightest of inflections on the Rs. _”I never did apologize to you for dropping you and giving you that scar, even if I did trip and fall on my face right after.”_

Slowly, ever so slowly, she let her eyes come up to meet Obi Wan’s eyes, their brilliance dimmed by the hologram _”I never apologized for many things,”_ he said softly.

_It’s him,_ Satine thought faintly. _My prayers have been answered. I asked for him back and he came back to me._

“Okay,” she told him.

His brow furrowed in confusion. “O…okay?”

“Okay,” she smiled at him, then promptly burst into tears to the both of their dismay.

“Satine…” She could see him through her blurry eyes reaching out awkwardly to her through the projection and waved him away, dabbing at her eyes with the sleeve of her sleep robe in a most undignified manner.

“No, really, Master Jedi, I am fine.” She offered him another watery smile, mind firmly blank. She should be mad. Stars, she should be _livid_ with him, it was clear enough that he had done this to her on purpose.

But she had thought she had lost him forever. 

And here he was, returned to her, like no one else who left had.

All there was, all Satine could feel, was a bone-aching sense of _relief_.

_I haven’t lost you…_

She gave him a more determined smile, and at the sight of it, she could see him visibly brightening, and if she wasn’t mistaken, there was that stiff upper lip trying to hold back his own emotions. 

“Well then, Your Grace,” _It’s Satine, it’s always been Satine for you, Ben…_ “I do apologize regardless for causing you any unnecessary distress. If there’s anything I can do…”

And just like that, she was bowled over by emotions of the past rearing up and grasping her roughly. _If you ever need anything,_ he had said all those years ago…

Her own thoughts at the funeral, of how he had looked at her that day she had confessed when she had thought Merrik would kill her, if she had only said anything, if she had taken the opportunity.

_Right now. Right now I could just…_

She took a breath.

He was right there. So far from her but so close, if only.

If only.

_No._

She offered him a final smile, ignoring how her heart felt like it was being crushed to death. 

“Try to remain alive for me, if you possibly can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yepppp if I'm locked up in my house because of a dang disease I write faster!
> 
> This is the second half of the flashbacks, next chapter WILL pick up where the cliffhanger I left y'all with ended off.
> 
> Hope everyone liked everything, I blame any extra angst/fluff on my Spotify playlist emotionally assaulting me with various certain songs that it KNOWS gets to me.
> 
> Gimme a shout in the comments below if you've got something to say, it was so nice to see everyone again last chapter!!! <3


	10. Padmé

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **** All my medical knowledge comes from studying at the University of Bullshittery with degrees in Web M.D. and Artistic License

** _Now…_ **

Padmé’s head jerked up from Satine lolled in her lap in the direction of Ahsoka’s call, heart pounding wildly. “What?” she called out, voice cracking. “Ahsoka, what is it? What’s wrong? Did you find him?”

_Please let him be alive. Please let him be alive. Stars, please._

For a heartbeat there was no answer, but right as Padmé was ready to get up and go find them herself, Ahsoka’s voice sounded again. “He’s here, I’ve got him, but we need to leave _now_. It’s bad.”

She still had no clue what was going on, and not seeing Anakin yet was killing her, but those chilling words _”It’s bad”_ had Padmé’s hindbrain sparking into motion. Looking back down at Satine, Padmé asked her, “Can you walk? We’re getting you out of here.”

Satine, whose eyes had glazed off into the distance, coughed and craned her head to see Padmé again, small trail of blood trickling past her lip. “I’ll try,” she rasped.

“Good, that’s good,” Padmé told her, holstering her blaster and torch and shifting Satine out of her lap. She moved to take the strange _black_ lightsaber hilt out of her friend’s clutch, but Satine’s hand jerked away sharply, face hardening to stone. 

“Alright,” Padmé started, now very concerned as to why Satine of all people was refusing to give up a weapon. “You’re going to need both hands if we’re going to move you.”

Satine pulled the hilt closer to her chest, brow furrowed as she appeared to be lost in thought for a moment, before slowly making to clip it to her belt where Anakin’s own hilt still hung, sending another pang through Padmé’s heart. 

Padmé waited for her as patiently as she could before bracing Satine’s back as she got to her feet while gently pulling the other woman upwards with her. Satine’s feet scrabbled at the ship floor, and while Padmé had her standing on her own for a second, Satine crumpled back against her a moment later in another coughing fit.

Juggling Satine’s weight in her arms, Padmé muttered one of Anakin’s favorite Huttese swears. She had the strength to carry Satine over her back, but Padmé really did not want to risk it with the unidentified chest injury she had noticed.

“Come on,” Padmé said gently, carefully hooking her arms under Satine’s armpits and beginning to slowly walk the pair of them towards the connecting doors to her ship. Satine was letting out little pained grunts and whimpers as well as more of those horrible coughs as they went, but she was obviously still making an effort with her feet to actually hold herself up instead of just dangling on Padmé. It wasn’t much, but Padmé appreciated her efforts, though it might make things easier if Satine would hold on to her with both arms and not .

Stumbling the pair of them over the threshold of her own ship, Padmé began guiding Satine towards the room in the back. There wasn’t a bed, not really, but there was a cushioned cot that she could possibly…Footsteps behind her made her pause, and shifting Satine, Padmé turned to look at where Ahsoka must be carrying her husband— and had to suddenly fight her own legs from giving out immediately in horror.

Ahsoka walked slowly, Anakin’s taller form crumpled up like a doll in her arms that trembled slightly, from weight or emotions, Padmé didn’t know. He was in the same red and black armor that Satine- wore, and though his face was tucked into Ahsoka’s shoulder, Padmé could just glimpse past the mess of matted curls a hint of bloodstained skin. Her breath was catching in her throat and she couldn’t get any air, Satine echoing her sentiments by coughing again.

_Oh gods, he looks dead._

Ahsoka’s face was shuttered in a way that looked like she was trying not to show any emotions, but her large blue eyes were wide with fear. They darted to meet Padmé’s, and Padmé must not be doing any better at hiding her horrified face as Ahsoka offered her a grimace and a small nod. “I’m going to bring him to the cockpit with us,” Ahsoka said. “I need… I need to keep an eye on him. Can you fly?”

Padmé nodded back, unable to speak. 

She wanted to rush forward and take her husband into her arms herself.

Everything about this was wrong, wrong, _wrong_

Feeling as if she was betraying every part of herself who loved Anakin more than death, she stepped herself and Satine back and away from her husband, allowing Ahsoka to get by them. Satine offered them a cough as they passed, catching Padmé’s attention and alarm as she noticed now in the light of a functioning ship that more blood amassed on Satine’s lips every time she coughed, as well as the blue tint to her skin. She had always been pale, but now—

Satine's blue— _bloodshot,_ Padmé noted with dismay —eyes were still tracking Ahsoka’s walk back to the cockpit with Anakin, glinting dimly. “Showoff,” Satine muttered.

“What?” Padmé asked in bewilderment.

Satine’s eyes flicked back to her. “That girl is far shorter than me.” She paused to weakly clear her throat. “And yet, she carries him like it is nothing. I had to drag him through the entire bloody palace. Nearly killed myself doing it. Needed Bo’s help getting him up the ramp.”

_Why did you need to drag him?_ Padmé wanted to shriek. She still had absolutely no clue what had happened on Mandalore or what had done her loved ones so much damage, and her patience for sitting in the dark was rapidly running thin.

However, none of this was Satine’s fault, so Padmé pushed her worries down with a loud exhale, offering Satine the best smile she could manage. “Ahsoka’s a Jedi, they’re strong like that,” Padmé told her, starting to move them again. “Let’s get you into the cockpit.”

Satine hummed, grumbling something that sounded like garbled Mando’a Padmé couldn’t make out, but obediently let herself be herd-carried the rest of the way to the cockpit with only minimal coughing.

Ahsoka was already rearranging Anakin in a chair with the back facing Padmé when they arrived, so Padmé moved to ease Satine into the other seat across from Anakin, right behind her pilot’s chair. Satine slumped into it, one hand moving to cradle the bent and rent armor around her ribs. Padmé’s heart ached at it, but Satine was once more looking to where Ahsoka was still dutifully keeping Anakin’s chair faced away from them.

“How is he?” Satine murmured, face pinched in pain.

Padmé very much wanted to know that herself. “Ahsoka,” she said urgently.

Ahsoka’s head popped up over the head of Anakin’s seat, tossing what looked like his red chestplate off to the side. “Could you get us jumping back to Coruscant please, Padmé?”

Padmé nodded, moving for the controls, but Satine’s hand came up to grip hers. “No. No, he’s—“ She pursed paled lips. “He’s not well at all. Go somewhere closer. Med outpost?”

Heart lurching at Satine’s words, Padmé addressed Ahsoka. “I think she has a point. We could—“

“No,” Ahsoka interrupted, voice still that soft and scared timbre that Padmé hated. “We need to go straight to Coruscant, to the Temple. They’re the only ones who can— who could…” She trailed off in a shaky exhale, rubbing her face with one hand, and that was the last straw for Padmé.

Steadying Satine in her chair, Padmé got up and hurried over to Ahsoka and Anakin, turning the chair around so she could see her husband’s face and stop being frightened by what she didn’t know.

“Wait, he’s—“ Padmé heard Ahsoka say, the rest falling on dim ears as Padmé scanned over her husband. Face dirty and smudged, his eyes were closed and his nose swollen and bloody, possibly broken. His red armor had been stripped away, leaving the black undershirt, also smudged. At first Padmé didn’t see what had him so grievously injured until she zeroed in on the rag of fabric looking to be the same as the under-armor material wrapped awkwardly around his waist paired with a burnt smell she didn’t like at _all_.

Padmé slowly moved her hands toward it, looking up at Ahsoka questioningly. She shook her head, face pale. “I wouldn’t.”

“What—?” Padmé started.

“Someone stabbed him,” Ahsoka said. Padmé wobbled, stumbling backwards in alarm. “Clean through, with a lightsaber. He should be dead by now, and the only reason he’s not is—“ She cut herself off again, turning away and blinking in frustration. “Just like my dream, damn, I should have—“

“I’ll set the coordinates for Coruscant,” Padmé said, tearing her eyes away from the motionless body as her limbs moved robotically back to the console, angling the ship in the right direction and putting in their destination with heavily shaking fingers.

_Stabbed? Stabbed— he should be, no, nononono, he is Fine, he is right there and we’re going to go right home and help him and I can’t fall apart when he needs—_

“Padmé,” Satine’s quiet voice had Padmé turning her head with a jerk, absently pulling the lever for hyperspace. Satine flinched at the change in pressure as the ship made the jump, but kept sorrowful eyes on Padmé. “I’m so sorry about him,” she said again, coughing up another bubble of blood.

The blood reminded Padmé that Satine was in need of quite a bit of medical attention as well. Pursing her lips, she leaned over and prodded at Satine’s warped armor. “Why don’t I try and help get you out of this and see how you’re doing? You can tell me what happened to you two.”

The last part was said with a raise of her voice in Ahsoka’s direction, catching the girl’s gaze and giving her a meaningful look. Ahsoka nodded back, eyes narrowed with countless questions. Padmé certainly had enough of her own. 

How in the hells had Anakin gotten himself stabbed with a lightsaber? Padmé had heard Satine didn’t even let them on the planet, had someone managed to turn Anakin’s on him? And why was he wearing armor? Why was _Satine_ of all people not only wearing it, but waving around some— some reversed-light lightsaber? Was that what had stabbed—?

No. Satine may be apologizing, but Padmé just knew whatever happened to Anakin couldn’t be Satine’s fault.

“How about we start there,” Padmé suggested, pulling out a medkit from the nearby wall compartment and setting it beside her, not grabbing anything just yet in favor of trying to get the smashed armor off first. “Do you know what happened to Anakin, then? How you both got hurt?”

Satine cleared her throat, a harsh noise, and closed her eyes. “Not quite.” Those two words were enough to fill Padmé with despair, but Satine was still talking. “I was— there was a lot of pain when it happened. The last thing I remember clearly was that they were fighting. Anakin was actively provoking him, gods know why, and then I think… I think he attempted to actually murder me and Anakin was trying to pull me away, telling him to drop me, and then… stars, one of them must have stabbed him at some point because he was already down when I fell.”

Padmé huffed, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear and stopping her picking at the armor’s releases that had gotten stuck from the damage. So far, all she was doing was making Satine more uncomfortable. Still, she had to know…

“Who is ‘he’, Satine? Who did all of this? Almec?” _I should have made sure that piece of scum was locked up for good…_

Satine shuddered, opening her mouth to answer and coughing again. “No. Sith,” she got out.

Before her answer could really sink in for Padmé, Ahsoka was already yelping, _”Sith?”_ as she hurried away from Anakin and in front of them. “Duchess, are you positive? Because that could explain—“

“Explain what?” Padmé demanded.

Ahsoka gave her a nervous side-eye before exhaling heavily and taking Padmé’s hand, slowly leading her back over towards Anakin. Anakin’s stomach had been wrapped with even more gauze and Padmé realized she still hadn’t even seen this stab wound. “I told you he should be dead by now, right? Well, the only reason he isn’t is because, well…” Anakin gently took a thumb to Anakin’s closed eyelid and raised it, gesturing for Padmé to look closely.

Padmé did so, and promptly jerked back in shock, forcing herself to lean back in to make sure she wasn’t seeing things. “Wh—what?!” 

Anakin’s irises, usually a deep, sparkling lake blue, now had their color fogged to a murky blue-grey. That wasn’t what alarmed her though. The alarming part was the glowing splinters of gold leaking out from around the dilated pupil like a solar corona during an eclipse.

“I don’t know what it is,” Ahsoka said miserably. “But I saw _that_, and then you remember how I was telling you the other ship felt like it was leaking Dark Side energy? It was coming from him! He doesn’t feel like he’s Fallen, thank the everloving Force, I can still faintly catch his usual signature under all the Dark.” Ahsoka let Anakin’s eye shut again and began pacing, hands wringing. “But, it almost feels like a body with radiation poisoning, like he got exposed to a bunch of Dark energy and ended up absorbing it, but his body— or really, his mind, I guess —doesn’t want it there, so now it’s trying to fight the Darkness off?” 

Padmé knew how exactly none of this spiritual business worked, but she couldn’t help feeling a tad skeptical. “So this is a magical Dark Side stab wound and that’s why he’s still alive?”

Ahsoka shook her head rapidly. “No, to my knowledge, that’s a regular lightsaber wound that really should have killed him by now.”

“Oh.”

“It hasn’t done it yet because I _think_ whatever Dark Side attack happened to him hit him in the mind— I only tried connecting with him once, and I just keep on meeting this slimy block of ice —and convinced his body to enter a Force-induced coma to heal itself. However, because he’s got all this Dark energy hovering around him, his body’s drawing on that at the same time it’s trying to remove it, and it’s using it to heal his gut wound, or at least keeping it stable. Which if I’m right, could be saving him now but be _really_ dangerous for him in the long run.”

“It’s worth it if it keeps him alive though, isn’t it?” Padmé argued. “Surely any negative effects it has can be treated?”

“I don’t know,” Ahsoka said grimly. “That’s why he needs to get to the main temple healers as soon as possible. There’s other temples closer to Mandalore, but I don’t know if they can—“ She broke off, turning away from Padmé to swipe briefly at her eyes. Padmé wanted to comfort her, but she couldn’t even comfort herself right now. “Main temple has the biggest library and the most Masters, if anyone can find out what Dooku did to him—“

A cough interrupted them. “Dooku? No, not Dooku.”

Ahsoka’s brow furrowed, giving Satine a searching look before addressing her gently. “Your Grace, like I said before, are you sure this is a Sith Lord? Because if it wasn’t Do—“

“There were two, and he agreed they were Sith,” Satine jerked her head towards Anakin, scowl on her face. “Called themselves Maul and Savage.”

Ahsoka let out a squeaky gasp from beside her, but Padmé’s mind had already frozen over too much to register it.

_Maul and Savage… Maul……._

Padmé did not recognize the name of the latter, but oh, did she know the former.

When a shadow with a red lightsaber murdered a Jedi assigned to protect her before getting cut in two and tossed down a giant hole in a home that also belonged to her, the Jedi Council understandably had a couple of questions for Queen Amidala. Queen Amidala had quite a few questions of her own about the incident, only to find the Jedi much less forthcoming with answers for her than they expected her to be for them. 

Never mind that she was a planetary sovereign who had just suffered a devastating attack on her people’s very way of life, the Council assured the Queen that as the assassin who killed Master Jinn was now indeed dead, they had found nothing else in their investigation that could lead to any potential harm towards the people of Naboo, its government, or its monarch. The implied “This is Jedi Business, no need to worry your pretty little head over it,” had not sat well with Padmé at all.

Therefore, Padmé had felt exactly no shame in snooping, instructing her spymaster to discreetly have an eye on the visiting Jedi during their few days staying in the palace, and to take whatever measures he could to bring her any information on the man with the red blade.

The Jedi, however, were Masters for a reason, and her spies brought her back dismally little besides a snippet of overheard conversation calling the assassin a “Sith Lord,” whatever that was. When she had asked Jinn about the man after their escape from Tatooine, she had managed to get “Darksider” “Absolutely Not a Jedi” and “Trouble, Majesty, and I’ll leave it at that” out of the evasive master knight, but as even that little information had sparked a hushed argument between Jinn and his apprentice, Padmé ultimately figured that not even the Jedi knew for sure what this was, which meant that she could not guarantee Naboo’s safety from this threat.

So, Padmé gathered her resources and had done research of her own on “Sith Lords”. Apparently, most of this information was actually restricted to Jedi alone, though she had found some bits about an ancient race of wizards who used an invisible power not unlike that of the Jedi to rain great evil down on the galaxy. Padmé had figured that with the Order’s public opinion ratings being as inconsistent as they were, choosing to keep the secrets of a group not unlike them but apparently evil was underhanded, yet understandable. Ultimately, more pressing Queenly matters and a lack of followup threat had caused her to drop her little project.

The information had remained in her brain, however, so when years later Anakin had stumbled his way back into her life and everything with Dooku had happened, Padmé hadn’t felt shame either in pouncing immediately when Anakin slipped and called Dooku a “Sith bastard”.

Anakin, bless him, had just lost a hand and gained a wife and was reluctant but willing to explain a bit more on Sith Lords when Padmé had described her knowledge of the assassin being one. Anakin had sighed, then told her the basics.

Sith Lords had glowing golden eyes, red lightsabers, could indeed use the Force like the Jedi could but called on the Dark side of it as opposed to the light, which gave them twisted and dangerous abilities. He told her the Sith she had seen that Obi Wan had killed was named Maul. He also told her that they were extremely dangerous, and that “if you ever meet one, Pads, there’s a good chance you’ll be killed immediately unless they want you alive, and then you’ll probably wish they had just killed you.” 

Padmé still remembered the deadly urgency in Anakin’s eyes as he stared her down directly. “You really shouldn’t have looked into them as much as you did. Please believe me that this is one thing that only the Jedi know how to handle. Don’t go looking for the Sith on your own again.”

Anakin had told her when Maul returned. Just the basics, that apparently killing a Sith Lord didn’t always stick, and that this one was now after Obi Wan with a deadly vendetta. He revealed nothing deeper that could betray Obi Wan’s confidence, but that he was worried about how to help his old Master. Padmé had been unable to give better advice than to make sure they looked out for each other.

Now this mysterious, murderous, would-be ghost was apparently on Mandalore and had _another_ Sith Lord with him and had brutalized Satine and almost killed Padmé’s husband.

While all of this information whirled about in Padmé’s head in a quarter of a second, Ahsoka was instantly demanding, “_Darth Maul_ did this to you two? The hells is he even doing there?”

Satine shuddered again, trying twice to speak before sound came out. “He and his brother… came working with Pre Vizsla. He and Pre used the crime families, undermined my authority. Turned my people to Death Watch’s side. After my arrest… after, Maul killed Pre. Framed me. Put Almec as his puppet.”

“But why?” Ahsoka asked, beating Padmé to it.

A trembling gasp made its way from Satine’s mouth that sounded almost like a sob. Her face crumpled, turning away. “My fault,” she mumbled again.

“How is a Sith Lord taking over your planet your fault?! Stars sake, Satine, you’re the victim here!” Padmé said incredulously, unable to understand Maul’s game and frustrated by the tiny voice at the back of her brain nagging her that yes, there was a connection here, there was a reason… 

“Because I was bait!” Satine exploded in a fit of coughing, tears forming at her eyes. Her voice cracked. “Maul, Maul knew who I would call, he let Bo break me out—“

“Bo?” Ahsoka interrupted.

“My sister, Bo Katan.”

“Your sister is _who—?_”

“Wait, Ahsoka,” Padmé told her. “Then what, Satine?”

“Maul had me freed just— _just_ long enough to send a message. Then captured me again. To lure him here! I did this!”

“Lure who?” Ahsoka was saying, but Padmé was thinking. Who would Satine call for help, someone a Sith Lord wanted? Maul, who was once dead, and apparently came back just to hunt—

“Obi Wan,” Padmé said at the same time as Satine. She met Satine’s watery gaze, her bloodied, swollen lip trembling as she stared at Padmé with shame gleaming in her eyes. She had never openly discussed this with Padmé before, this love of hers, except for that one drunken time on Padmé’s balcony that appeared forgotten the next morning, and Padmé knew how her friend hated being vulnerable.

_To have her love used against her like that…_

Satine gave another miserable cough, and Padmé broke the silence that had descended after the revelation, saying, “Ahsoka, I couldn’t get her armor off, whatever happened to it. I’m sure Anakin— I don’t think there’s much you can do for him right now, could you help get Satine out of that, please?”

Ahsoka had her thinking face on, but nodded and headed over to Satine. Pulling a vibroblade from her boot, she started gently prying at the corners of Satine’s armor, Satine letting out stifled whimpering noises. Ahsoka’s blade skittered with a metallic screech across the side of the chestplate just as she managed to open it, paired with Satine’s gulping, wheezing gasps as her chest was freed. The plate fell to the ground with a clatter, Ahsoka’s face paling. 

“What is it?” Padmé asked instantly.

“So Master Obi Wan did go with Anakin,” Ahsoka whispered, almost too soft to hear. “He wasn’t with them on the ship, Padmé.”

Ice ran down Padmé’s spine. _Oh, no._

“You need to call the Council immediately,” Padmé told Ahsoka. “We can’t turn around for him, but—“

“No, no, no!’ Satine hissed, coughing and batting at Ahsoka’s hand as she started to reach for her commlink. “Obi— he, he wasn’t there, he didn’t come.”

Padmé heard Ahsoka’s small exhale of relief that coincided with her own, but Satine was continuing. “Anakin showed up at my cell alone, said that Obi Wan was coming, but, but Anakin talked him out of it?” There was pure befuddlement on Satine’s face that shone through the pain, which made sense as so far, this was the most outlandish thing she had said yet.

Ahsoka’s under-the-breath “What?” seemed to put them all in agreement.

“We almost made it out, the two of us,” Satine breathed, eyes switching to sorrow. 

Padmé and Ahsoka listened horrorstruck as Satine stammered out a vague overview of trying to escape, their plan failing, Maul and his brother showing up and getting angry their trap failed, Satine’s memory failing as she tried to remember something about being dragged back and made to sit while Maul decided who to kill and who to keep as a hostage, but not recalling anything clearly besides Anakin provoking some sort of fight and waking up to find everyone on the ground.

Satine finished by saying she had pulled Anakin out of the palace and gotten the rest of the way out with the help of her estranged sister— Ahsoka had made more uncertain noises at this, there was a story here Padmé would ask for later —who had loaded them onto an escape ship that had gotten its front shut off before they could jump to hyperspace. She had managed to pull herself up and find the ship’s distress beacon panel, and then…

“… then we just lay there, for hours,” Satine finished, breaths coming easier with the crushed armor not digging into her, but she still had bloody spittle. “He woke up once, had some fit about ‘him coming, the Darkness’.” She made weak air quotes. “I didn’t know what was going on, I thought he was delirious.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely something I’m going to have to tell the healers,” Ahsoka said with a worried glance over at Anakin’s prone form. Padmé went over to check his breathing again, relived when she felt soft breaths on her hand.

“Well, good on you for escaping,” Ahsoka was telling Satine as she dabbed at the gash on her cheek with a bacta pad from the medkit. “I’m no healer, but you’ve definitely got some broken ribs, and the bloody cough probably isn’t a good sign. Might want to check that the bruising on your throat isn’t anything either. Once we get to Coruscant you should go to a real medic as soon as possible.”

“I got off far easier than I should,” Satine told her darkly, relaxing more into her chair at the lack of restrictive armor, and Padmé would not listen to that kind of talk from her.

“No.” Padmé crossed back over to kneel in front of Satine’s chair, brushing matted blonde tangles off her face. “I said it before and I’ll say it again: none of this was your fault.”

“But if I hadn’t—“ Satine began, but Padmé didn’t want to hear it.

“You got deposed and locked up because some people didn’t agree with your politics. That’s a risk every ruler takes. A Sith Lord took advantage of this because others put him in the position to take that advantage in the first place.”

“There would not be anything to take advantage of if I hadn’t allowed myself to get close to—“

“Get close to a Jedi?” Padmé allowed herself a dry laugh. “You knew the risks. We all knew them when we made the choice to do it anyway. Because the rewards are worth that risk.” She allowed herself another glance at her husband’s motionless form. “Love is worth that risk.”

Satine’s expression went stony as it zeroed in on Anakin, summoning a fresh burst of vigor. “I thought I was risking myself. Not those who weren’t involved in my decision.

Ahsoka cleared her throat, and Padmé could see the awkwardness on her face as she shifted on her feet. “If it helps,” she said, “My Master kind of makes it his business to get involved in things he shouldn’t. Especially if they’re life-threatening, and especially if they involve someone else he’s close with.”

Satine gave her a searching look, bloodshot eyes darting from Ahsoka to Padmé and back. They landed on Padmé at long last, and something about Padmé must have drained the last of Satine’s energy for conversation, as she glared tiredly at her and settled back into her chair, closing her eyes. “Still,” she muttered, coughing again and trickling out more blood. “I decided to give my love up. That so many people have suffered regardless…” She trailed off, a last sputtered cough before slumping over. 

Padmé lunged for her in alarm, but Ahsoka was just eyeing the Duchess unhappily. “No, no, it’s fine, she’s just sleeping.”

“Should she be sleeping with that chest injury?” Padmé asked, resisting the urge to feel at Satine and chance aggravating her wounds further.

Ahsoka shrugged. “We can’t really do anything for her until we get her to a medic or medcenter once we get back home. If she’s not in danger of dying, I don’t think her sleeping is _too_ bad? Like I said, my line of Jedi didn’t exactly specialize in healing.”

At this, Ahsoka went back over to Anakin again, taking his head in her hands and turning it back and forth, examining his bloodied, pale face. He really did look dead. To her frustration, Padmé felt the hot, heavy weight of tears start to grow.

_Oh, my love…_

“Speaking of your line of teachers,” Padmé said, partially to take her mind off things, partially because it needed to be said. “Have you been able to figure out how exactly they managed to get themselves into this?”

Ahsoka looked up from Anakin’s face, blinking brightness out of her own eyes if Padmé wasn’t mistaken. “What, you mean with all of this?” Ahsoka weakly attempted her snarky smile that quickly faded into seriousness. “I honestly don’t know. What the Duchess told us… didn’t feel right.”

Padmé felt frigid. “You aren’t saying she’s lying.”

“No, not that. She believed what she told us. It’s what she told us about my Masters that’s the problem for me.”

“Do you—“ Padmé hesitated, habitually balking at admitting the truth aloud, even, especially as it was someone else’s. “I made the assumption you knew of Satine’s past… _history…_ with—“

“With Master Obi Wan? Not much honestly, but I knew the bare gist of it, I’ve overheard some things.” Ahsoka was still looking upon her Master’s body with terrible concern. “I’ve learned much from my Masters though, and I know how they tick. I know that Master Obi Wan keeps his private business private, and that he likes to solve his problems himself. Why he wouldn’t be here…”

“Satine mentioned something odd, that when Anakin arrived, he told her he had talked Obi Wan out of coming himself?” Padmé put in, remembering how that part hadn’t sat correctly with her.

Ahsoka gave a mirthless snort. “When has Anakin ever been able to out-argue Obi Wan when his mind’s made up?”

Padmé conceded that point easily. 

“And, it would have to be more than made up if he had decided this was worth sneaking around behind the Council’s back for,” Ahsoka continued. “But no, instead I get some random comm from him saying he’s on some random other mission while this entire shitsho— erm, mess is going down like he doesn’t even know. Something’s wrong.”

Padmé agreed completely. If there was one thing she knew about Obi Wan from her own observances and from listening to the rants of his loved ones, it was how he looked out for those who mattered to him, his tendency for self-sacrifice in the name of keeping others safe. There was no way she could possibly see him letting Anakin walk into a trap like that, or leave Satine to die, not of his own volition. 

“Do you think Master Kenobi is in danger?” Padmé pressed, wanting somehow to _fix this_, for there not to be a darkness-filled hole in her husband, for Satine to not be sitting shattered in the ruins of her life’s work, for some way to help.

_How can I do this? Think, Padmé._

“What if, what if I try calling Master Obi Wan again?” Ahsoka suggested.

_Oh, thank gods,_ Padmé thought.

“I think that would do us a great deal of help right now,” Padmé said wearily, reaching into the medkit still at their feet and pulling out the wet wipes. They wouldn’t do much, but they could clear some of the blood and grime off of Anakin’s face.

“Great,” Ahsoka said. “I’m just going to…” She thumbed awkwardly towards the door to the cockpit, and Padmé was going to insist that she stay here, she wanted to know what had happened with Obi Wan too, but changed her mind. She didn’t want to risk Satine waking up and getting agitated at the sound of Obi Wan’s voice, and she knew she had to stay here to keep an eye on the two infirm. 

Also, she didn’t want to spiral into worry if Obi Wan didn’t answer his comm right away.

She nodded tersely, and Ahsoka nodded back, inching her way out the closed ship doors, shutting Padmé in with only two unconscious bodies and the blue light of hyperspace for company.

* * *  
Obi Wan had been having a Day.

He had woken up in one of the Elul’i hospital rooms with the sounds of screaming still running through his brain.

_Anakin, Satine, something was very wrong with the both of them, red lights,_ why?

He had tried fumbling for the mental Bond between Anakin and himself, desperate for any sort of clue, recoiling in disgust upon finding the frigid block where there was usually warm embers.

He tried to remember what had happened, he had been on the steps of the capital with Mace, his mind focused on how to flee the negotiations and steal a ship, when he had suddenly felt like he had been stabbed— and then there was the headrest and, had he passed out again? Why was he imagining _Mace_ passing out?

Then there had been the awful visions of things his brain now held out of memory’s reach, things he had recognized, things he had feared, and the underlying deathly knowledge that someone he cared about was in pain and he was too late.

Again.

At this despairing thought, an Elul’i person he recognized as one of the diplomats who had came to meet them— from the Separatist side, if he was recalling correctly. He was positive he didn’t remember a swollen closed eye that would soon turn black standing out on their pale, tattooed skin from when he had last met them. He was beginning to worry of a trap, when the person sat and if he wasn’t wrong, flushed, embarrassment radiating off of them.

They greeted him and asked him the last thing he remembered.

Leaving out the visions of doom, Obi Wan made up a story of a lightheaded fainting spell, likely from being on the ship for too long, and then the feeling of passing out again along with his partner.

“Speaking of, is Master Windu here as well, I—“

“He is outside,” the Elul’i said, still biting their lip marking and avoiding his gaze. “We already released him, and we will release you as well now that we know your stories match up.”

Obi Wan blinked, puzzled. “May I ask why they would not—“

The Elul’i cleared their throat, and yes, that was definitely embarrassment. “Our planet has been in turmoil and conflict for a very long time, Master Jedi,” they said. “We have grown wary of trusting outsiders, afraid they could be part of the enemy side. It took much time and gentle persuasion to get to where we could extend an invitation to you, and I am afraid to say that, ah, some of our members of your welcoming party were looking for wrong from the beginning. When you collapsed, some feared it a trick, so the pair of you were tranquilized for the safety of the group.”

_Ah. The prick on the neck. Mace falling over. I suppose that’s my fault then. Oops._

“I’m guessing this was not a unanimous decision?” Obi Wan asked with a smile to project no hard feelings, daring to gesture at the diplomat’s eye.

The diplomat let out a nervous chuckle, brushing thin fingers against the puffy purpling skin. “There was a… disagreement about how to handle the situation. It is resolved now though,” they added in a hurry. “We would still be most honored and appreciative for the Jedi to discuss our circumstances with us!”

“Of course, we are here to ensure there won’t be any more reasons for ah, _disagreements,_” Obi Wan promised, head spinning now on how to slip the people in this hospital. It would be a diplomatic nightmare for Mace if the planet’s people were truly so more volatile than anticipated, but there was no question now. 

Two people needed him.

He could avoid any people, sneak through the city, find the nearest ship—

“Actually, you will not be here, Master Jedi,” the Elul’i said.

Obi Wan barely avoided jumping guiltily. _What? How do they—?_

The Elul’i wrung their hands, gesticulating earnestly. “We _are_ sorry, and your friend did confirm that it was likely just space-sickness, but as you know we are a very isolated world that has already been ravaged by plague from foreign invaders in this war. We value our safety, and any who enter the planet and fail to pass the health exam are denied entrance and sent home. That is planetary law. We understand that you came all this way, and as I said, we still welcome the help of the—“

“No, no really, I understand,” Obi Wan told them, barely believing his luck and senses now high on red alert. Obi Wan didn’t _get_ lucky. The universe tended to prefer throwing heavy objects Obi Wan's face. Repeatedly.

There was more apologies from the diplomat, but Obi Wan was finally able to convince them that he was regretful but more than willing to return to Coruscant as to not put the people of Elul’i at risk and yes, Master Windu had his full confidence and was more than capable of assisting them.

As he was freed from the building and ushered into a speeder— he noted everyone who passed by him took a good couple of steps backwards —the Force roiled around him, and he wavered on his seat. Luckily, the driver was a droid who did not take any notice, but he could still feel the echo in his head.

_He is coming, he is here…_

Obi Wan had absolutely no clue who “he” was, or why he had thought that.

_I just need to get to Mandalore. I can figure things out then._

Once the speeder reached the port where their ship had landed, Obi Wan stepped out of the speeder, thanked the droid, and was not entirely surprised to see Mace Windu waiting at the foot of the ship along with a group of robed Elul’i a few paces away. 

“I wanted to see you off!” Mace called, voice jovial and light, but Obi Wan could recognize the tightness in his smile as he strode towards Obi Wan. “I want an explanation for all of this,” Mace murmured to him as he stopped in front. “Are you well? Your aura was so distressed back there the feedback almost took me off my feet if the Elul’i hadn’t knocked me out already.”

“I— I think this is something I will need to discuss with Master Yoda first,” Obi Wan told him, feeling guilty once more for the lie at the sight of genuine worry shining through Mace’s hard gaze. “I’m not sure—“

“I heard you saying things,” Mace said abruptly. “Nonsense mostly, but you definitely said ‘Anakin.’ Is something wrong with—”

“I’ll need to speak with Yoda,” Obi Wan repeated, allowing a note of urgency to slip into his voice. If he finally made it to Mandalore and all he found was ashes and death, he’d—

Mace was nodding, moving away and allowing Obi Wan access to the ship. “Safe travels back. I’ll notify the Council of your return.”

“Oh, I can do that,” Obi Wan promised. _If I’m this shameless in lying, I may as well fish for more time…_ “You should focus on helping the Elul’i.”

Mace’s eyes narrowed, but he gave a curt jerk of his head again, patting Obi Wan’s shoulder and stepping back. “Alright. May the Force be with you, Obi Wan.”

“And with you, Mace,” Obi Wan replied, giving a hurried bow and making his way up the ship’s ramp and closing the doors.

He was on edge the entire startup sequence, waiting, waiting for _something else_ to go wrong. 

He cleared air traffic control safely. 

He made it out of atmosphere.

Trembling fingers plugging in the coordinates for Mandalore, he pulled the lever for hyperspace with a wince.

Nothing happened.

Obi Wan let out the slightest of breaths.

His comm went off.

_Spoke too soon._

He checked it immediately, worst case scenario being the Council, best case being Anakin or Satine.

The comm informed him it was Ahsoka.

Anakin had told him, had promised, that he had left Ahsoka out of this clusterfuck.

Obi Wan debated letting it go; if she was truly safe at home there was no need to worry her.

But, he had left her a message telling him to contact him if she heard from Anakin.

At the last minute, Obi Wan answered. “Hello, Ahsoka.”

The sigh over the line set the hairs on the back of his neck raising. “Master Obi Wan. You’re okay.”

Heart in his throat, Obi Wan asked, “Why would I not be?”

There was silence for a heartbeat. Two. Three.

“Ahsoka—“

“Can you switch the transmission to holo?” Ahsoka’s voice said in the tone that told Obi Wan the news was not going to be pleasant at all. “It’s Anakin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, Anakin wasn't even on fire this time ok, he's hard to squish. Satine's _probably_ fine??? I am throwing all official rules of how long it takes to get from Point A to Point B out the window because if I was any good at astrophysics or medicine I wouldn't be a history major.
> 
> Less than a month between updates, I'm proud of me!
> 
> I am once again shamelessly begging for comments, hope y'all are staying safe!


	11. Obi Wan

_”It’s Anakin.”_

Ahsoka saying those two words sent a cold rock sinking deep inside of Obi Wan’s gut, and he felt fortunate for the chair he was already sitting in. Part of him wanted to immediately switch to holomessage, but he didn’t feel completely confident in his current ability to control his facial expressions appropriately.

_Something’s Wrong,_ his mind sang. _You can hear it, you know it, you’ve known it. You’ve put him in danger along with her and now they both need your help—_

Settling for sitting up in his chair and curling his fingers around the armrests for support, Obi Wan allowed himself a singular breath in and out to ground him. “You got my message, then. So you’ve heard from him?”

Ahsoka’s voice was pitched higher in that cadence it took when she was reluctant, or scared, or contemplating a lie. Anakin’s did exactly the same thing. “I did, Master, kind of, but— it’s— look, this will be a much easier conversation to have face-to-face, so could we please switch to holo?”

Obi Wan’s hands stayed where they were, but his mouth opened regardless and spoke over the gnawing fear eating him alive. “Very well, Padawan. Switch it to holo.”

He heard Ahsoka’s relieved sigh rather louder than he suspected she had intended, but then his comm was flashing and with a flick of the Force— frivolous? he didn’t give a damn —he accepted the request, and the shimmering blue form of Ahsoka manifested in front of him. She seemed, he noted, to be examining him with eyes shadowed by fear, searching for something he couldn’t tell.

“What news have you of Anakin?” Obi Wan cut to the chase, absolutely done with sitting in the dark.

Eyes flicking over her shoulder at something in a move Obi Wan barely caught, Ahsoka looked back at him and her entire posture morphed, straightening up, shoulders back, jaw set and eyes hardening. This was Padawan Tano reporting to a High Council Master, not Ahsoka calling a member of her line with concern for another.

Ahsoka let out a deep breath and said, “I found his wrecked ship floating in space, someone ran him through with a lightsaber. Somehow he’s not dead.”

_Oh Force,_ Obi Wan thought faintly. _Oh sweet Force, I’ve killed him._

_No, she said—_ “He’s not dead?” Obi Wan echoed, latching onto those words like a lifeline and using them to keep his head above the water. Ahsoka had clearly said “ran through”, but if anyone could pull a miracle…

_Calm down. Focus on what you know, work with what you’ve been given. Roll with the punches as they come._

“What condition is he currently in then? How serious is it?” Obi Wan asked, rallying behind protocol, as if this were any other emergency situation. If this were any other Knight.

Ahsoka noticeably grimaced, but otherwise kept her composure. Obi Wan was proud of her. “He appears to have been stabbed straight through the gut once—“ Obi Wan only barely refrained from physically recoiling, bile rising in his throat as he remembered the phantom pains he had felt, the visions of Anakin crumpled on the ground, “—and now he’s unconscious in what looks like a Force coma. He really shouldn’t be alive, but, ugh.” Ahsoka ran a hand over her face. “It’s really complicated, Master, and I don’t think there’s anything either of us can do until I get him back to the healers. Frankly, I’m not even sure if the _healers_ can do anything.”

Obi Wan saw her starting to work herself up again, and figured it would be best for both of them to continue the line of questioning. “Just focus on bringing him home, Ahsoka. Where did you even find him?”

Apprehension bloomed over her face and transferred itself to Obi Wan instantly. “Like I said, in a wrecked ship. It was floating off a small moon that orbits Mandalore.”

He allowed himself one breath drawn in sharply. In Anakin’s last comm to him he had said he was right over Mandalore. Had something happened to Anakin right after that conversation? That crunching of Anakin’s comm, had that been Anakin being irritating as usual, or had something happened and Obi Wan hadn’t even thought— 

Or, had Anakin made it to the planet and something had gone horribly, terribly wrong, and he had just barely made it out?

_And where is Satine?_ the voice in his head protested loudly. Despite what had happened to Anakin, despite that it was all Obi Wan’s fault, at least he knew where he was, and that he was, for this precious moment, alive and not in active danger. Satine he still had no more clue than when her message had ended yesterday. Anakin had said he was going to rescue her, what if he _had_ tried, and if this near-death state was how formidable, resilient Anakin had turned out…

Obi Wan shook himself out of the spiral again. That was what he was going to solve right now, where Satine was and how to rescue her. A part of him wanted nothing more than to turn the ship around and meet Ahsoka and Anakin at home, make sure Anakin was alright, but Satine needed someone now. He would not abandon her.

And, he reminded himself darkly, given that _something_ had happened to Anakin to get him karking stabbed, Obi Wan would need any and all information to avoid that outcome himself and get Satine off of Mandalore at all costs.

Returning out of his mindstorm within, Obi Wan focused back on Ahsoka’s unhappy face. “Ahsoka, is there anything else you can tell me about what happened to him?” he said quietly, only half listining for himself, thoughts repeatedly shifting back instead to the image of Anakin in pain, on the floor, the flash of bright red, the muted Force Bond. “Any ideas on who might have done this to him, how he had ran into them in the first place, how you were even able to find him?” 

Obi Wan hadn’t been there for his partner when he needed him. Anakin had been alone, where he never should have been.

Ahsoka hesitated, face screwing up. Her slip was only a heartbeat long before she smoothed it back over to face him evenly, but she was still young and Obi Wan had been reading people for years, had taught Ahsoka how to lie. 

_Worse news. How in the stars’ name is there worse news?_

His armrests were life rafts in a roiling storm of a sea.

“I can tell there’s something else, Ahsoka.” His voice came out softer than he had expected, but to himself he could acknowledge he likely hadn’t the will to push his own words any further than necessary.

“You aren’t going to like it,” Ahsoka warned.

“I’m hardly rejoicing in any of the news you’ve given so far. What is it?”

Another sigh. “Well, regarding who stabbed him, Duchess Satine says it was either Darth Maul or his brother.”

Obi Wan’s mind ground to a halt. 

_Maul._

Memories began to form against his will, of the first time he saw the Darksider, Qui Gon’s dying breaths, the pit that had formed in his gut upon realization of just how great his _failure_ had been when Maul showed up again, how his lapse of judgement, how his touch of the Dark hadn’t even avenged his Master, it had only gotten Master Gallia killed and more people hurt and this man himself forced to suffer for ages and fall even further down his Dark path that hadn’t even been his own choice, all because Obi Wan had failed to put him down properly.

Of course Maul was back.

He had said he was going to destroy Obi Wan, and Obi Wan had miscalculated once again.

Of course Maul was here.

Maul had hurt Anakin.

_Ran through,_ Ahsoka had said. Just like Qui Gon.

The pressure inside the ship had began to tighten; Obi Wan realized with aching lungs that he had been neglecting to breathe.

“Master Obi Wan?” Ahsoka was saying, fear clear in her voice.

_Don’t sound so concerned for me. You should be disappointed._

He needed to focus.

Drawing his internal strings tighter together, he tried to parse past the shock of Maul trying to fulfill his goal of hurting Obi Wan in the only way he knew how, and nearly fell out of his seat.

_Satine told her this? Then that means…_

All thoughts of Maul flying out of his mind, he focused on the most important information first, hoping his voice projected through the ringing bubble vibrating around his head. “You’ve spoken to Satine? How?”

“She was the only other person alive on the ship we found Anakin on,” Ahsoka said, odd expression from earlier back on her face. She was studying him. “He broke her out of prison in Sundari and they were finally escaping the planet before a lucky shot knocked their ship out of commission. I… I thought you knew he was going to get her?”

Obi Wan detected just a note of accusation in her tone. Good. He deserved it. “So to be perfectly clear,” he stated, “Satine is with you now on the way back to Coruscant?”

“She is,” Ahsoka agreed. “But she’s currently—“

The rest of her words faded to background static in Obi Wan’s ears as he immediately pulled the emergency lever to drop his ship out of lightspeed without a second thought.

He was promptly flung forward into the dashboard as the ship was ripped from the bright blue of hyperspace and into the swirling black of regular space with a shuddering jolt accompanied by his console lighting up in flashing buttons and complaining alarms.

A voice in his head that sounded much like Anakin’s was chiding him as he began plugging new coordinates into the navicomputer, about the dangers of yanking a ship out of hyperspace like that, the risk of landing oneself inside a star or the likes, or the pressure it put on the hyperdrive and ship structure.

_You’ve tried lightspeed skipping, you can say nothing,_ Obi Wan told the Anakin voice as he registered another voice calling out “…Wan? Obi Wan!”

Leaning down to paw for where his commlink had fallen off the dashboard, Obi Wan’s chest twinged from where he had fallen and hit it.

_And that’s for never wearing a seatbelt,_ the Anakin voice snarked as Obi Wan grabbed his comm and raised it to see Ahsoka’s terrified face, thankful the connection hadn’t broken completely.

“There you are,” Ahsoka breathed. “What happened? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Obi Wan promised her, finishing up the coordinates to jump to Coruscant with one hand, steering the ship into the right direction while silencing the alarms with the other. Luckily the hyperdrive hadn’t been damaged. “Just needed to pull out of lightspeed. I was on my way to Mandalore to get Satine and Anakin myself, but seeing as they apparently made it out on their own, I’m meeting you back home.” Pressing a final button, he pulled the lever to send the ship shooting back into hyperspace. “How—“

“Please don’t scare me like that, Master.” Ahsoka’s voice was quiet as a grave, her eyes shimmering in the wavering holo. “You disappeared, and I thought— I thought something had happened to you, and I’ve been worried about you all day and about Master Anakin since this morning and—“ She took a deep breath. “I don’t want anything else happening to anyone I care about if I can help it.”

Another twinge of guilt on his part, drowning out the reflexive inner Master warning her not to let too much of her emotional state hang on the wellbeing of specific people. Was that not what he was doing right now? Was that not why he was holding himself together by force of will alone? “Of course,” he told her gently, looking her directly in the eye as he said, “I apologize for the worry.”

Jaw jutted out, Ahsoka nodded at him in forgiveness, shadow over her brow lightening just the slightest.

Speaking of emotions hanging on people.

“How is Satine?” Obi Wan asked, unable to hold back any longer. Anakin had been _stabbed—_ (by Maul??? No, think on that later) —and Satine had apparently been well enough to tell Ahsoka this, but his senses were no less tense than they had been since he had received her message, and he likely wouldn’t be anywhere close to off the edge until she was there in front of him and he could see for himself that she was alright.

There was that face Ahsoka was making again. “Physically? She’s pretty banged up, but as long as we get her medical attention at some point soon, she should be fine in no time. Mentally…” She hesitated. “The Duchess was kind of out of it when we brought her on board, and she was really frantic and agitated while she told us what had happened. We’re letting her rest now, but I think she’s been through a lot, Master.”

Ahsoka’s sympathetic confusion was like a dagger straight to the heart. Obi Wan allowed himself just a moment to close his eyes and let it sink in. 

_She’s hurt too. She’s_ been _hurt for who knows how long._

“I’ll let her rest,” Obi Wan made himself say despite every bone in his body wanting to demand Ahsoka take the comm to see Satine immediately. Once more, he forcibly reeled his brain back out of the whirlpool of confusion and set it to the task of processing the rest of Ahsoka’s words, focusing on information bit by bit. He settled on, “This is the second time I’ve heard you say ‘we’. Is there another Jedi with you?”

Of course there should be. There was no way Ahsoka should have gotten the clearance to go out after Anakin on her own. But if she had brought another Jedi, shouldn’t the Council have been notified by now? Shouldn’t Obi Wan be receiving a million angry messages from Mace and the likes?

Perhaps she meant the clones. This was hardly the first time Anakin had stumbled into trouble and Ahsoka had needed to round up Rex and the men to go out after him. Yes, that was likely it.

But now, Ahsoka looked almost… guilty? “Uh, no, Master. I snuck out. Senator Amidala’s with me, actually, we took her ship.”

Obi Wan sat back in his seat slightly, jaw hanging on its own accord. _She contacted… Padmé? Why in the Sith hells?_

Ahsoka was already moving to explain herself. “I know, I know, it’s dangerous and I shouldn’t have brought her, but she didn’t give me a choice! She was already going herself and it’s more like she brought me along then the other way around.”

Obi Wan gave in to the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose to stave off the approaching tension headache. There were far, far too many factors swirling around in his head that did not add up to make logical sense. 

Maul and his brother were on or near Mandalore, one of them had stabbed Anakin, despite this Anakin and Satine had managed to escape them, somehow Ahsoka and _Padmé_ of all people had figured this out before anyone else…

Obi Wan sat back up in his seat, coming to a decision. “Ahsoka, perhaps it would be best if you simply told me the entire story from the beginning, from the moment you were alerted to Anakin’s situation and had the idea to go after him.”

Ahsoka opened her mouth to speak, then closed it tight, expression shifting again. Once more, Obi Wan was fixated with a look he could only call accusatory. “With all due respect, Master, it might be better if you told me what you know about all of this first,” Ahsoka said cautiously. “So I can know exactly what needs to be explained.”

She was questioning him, nervous but bold, having figured out that he was at least partially responsible for this mess like the intelligent girl she was, and holding him accountable for it, just as she had been taught. His pride in her and the recognition of the fairness of her request overrode the voice inside him urging him to pull rank and snap that no, it was none of her business, and he had asked first.

He slumped. “You’re quite right. Very well. Last evening on Coruscant, the Jedi Council received a distress call from the Duchess Satine.” He paused, torn between wanting to be truthful to Ahsoka and not wanting to tear free one of his last few secrets and bear it to the light. 

_No. You’ve done enough. You don’t deserve the cover of deception._

“Actually,” he amended, “_I_ received the distress call. Satine sent it to the Council, but she addressed it to me alone.” Ahsoka’s expression didn’t change, just nodded in acknowledgement, and Obi Wan wondered if Anakin had already told her everything. “She told us that the former Minister Almec had usurped the throne and the planet with the aid of an alliance of crime families. There was an active fight going on in the background while she was telling this, so she had no time to do anything besides request assistance before we saw guards capture her again.”

_She didn’t mention anything about Maul. Why didn’t she mention Maul?_

_No, don’t think about him, focus on Satine._ He brushed away the phantom pang of fear he had felt at the sight of seeing Satine in trouble, shooing off the unhelpful emotions and continuing with the story. 

“Afterwards, Master Yoda decided that the Order could do nothing to assist Mandalore. They are a neutral system, and their attackers are no longer allied with the CIS, which gives the Senate no obligation to send any help, and as you know, we cannot act without Senate permission.”

“Did the Council even ask the Senate?” Ahsoka asked, disappointment in her tone. 

She was like Anakin, Obi Wan thought. Big heart, and wanted to help everyone no matter what. She already had a mite too large inherent distrust for authority and the systems that were meant to help her, and Obi Wan feared what kinds of fires inside her his story might risk starting.

“Of course we would try, Master Yoda said he was going to ask them later that night,” Obi Wan assured her. “But this was a situation where we all knew that at this point in the war, it is very unlikely the Senate would have agreed to sending aid.”

“Oh,” Ahsoka said flatly.

“Yes,” Obi Wan agreed, echoing her sentiments completely. “Now, Satine is my… friend.”

_(“And nothing more…” whispered Satine’s bitter voice, knew that painful tension of unacted-on want that had been strung between them for almost twenty years was still keeping both of their hearts on a string, knew her frustrations, knew that sense of emptiness was his fault too…)_

“Our friendship is Council knowledge, so Master Yoda figured it would be best to keep my mind off of Satine’s plight by sending me on another assignment far away from the Temple and Mandalore.” Obi Wan continued.

“So you sent Anakin to rescue her instead,” Ahsoka said, and here Obi Wan’s patience frayed.

“I certainly did _not,_” he snapped despite himself, Ahsoka jumping slightly at his ire. Reining himself back in, Obi Wan made sure to look her directly in the eye as he said, “No one was supposed to be breaking any rules except for me. It was my fault. My idea that a Jedi should not go against their duty to help those in need just because we were fighting a war elsewhere. My decision to try and abandon my mission to go rescue her myself. My idea to take the _Twilight_, and get caught by Anakin in the process…”

“You were going to go in alone,” Ahsoka said flatly. He could sense her state of unimpressed from lightyears away. “No offense, but that wasn’t smart, Master.”

Obi Wan felt a derisive snort escape. “Your Master shared the same opinion.” He ran a hand through his hair to brush it out of his face, that last confusing conversation still running through his mind, absolutely none of Anakin’s actions from that point on making any more sense to him now than they had then. 

“Anakin drew the wrong conclusion of why I was leaving—“ _Why on earth had he assumed I was running off to live happily ever after with Satine? And again,_ why _did the idea bother him so?_ “—and argued with me about it long enough that I barely had time to explain why I was really going before the Masters appeared and prevented me from escaping my assignment before it began. I figured I would be able to slip away once I arrived on Elul’i, but in no way could I predict Anakin calling me halfway there to inform that he had taken it upon himself to rescue Satine for me. I told him not to.” His voice rang hollow even in his own head. “I told him to turn back, to let me handle it.”

“He didn’t listen,” Ahsoka whispered, realization dawning on her face.

Another wet laugh bubbled up in Obi Wan’s throat. “When has he ever? He told me not to worry and cut communications. I haven’t heard anything from him or Satine since besides an awful vision of him in pain, and complications with the locals once I arrived on Elul’i prevented me from taking off after them until now.”

Ahsoka’s expression had softened completely, blinking at him in sympathy. Obi Wan hated it, wanted the suspicious threads of accusation back. This was his fault, all his fault.

“You didn’t know anything about Maul?” Ahsoka asked.

“Nothing, her message didn’t say.” Obi Wan cleared his throat after the rasp of that last word. It was the truth; he knew nothing. Nothing besides the fact that once again his failure to deal with Maul had lead to more lives being destroyed. Lives that had gotten involved with his own cursed one, that he had _let_ involve themselves despite knowing damn well better. However Maul was involved in this, he had undoubtedly done it to get at Obi Wan, and Obi Wan had let him.

He didn’t know how Maul had parsed the connection between himself and Satine, but Maul had done it and it was entirely his fault.

Ahsoka was still staring at him, so Obi Wan dragged himself out of his dark thoughts and faced her. “I presume that’s enough for you to know what to tell me?” he asked, prompting a change of subject.

Ahsoka started. “Yes! Right. So, it started when I got home from a night out with my friends last night. Master left me a message on my comm telling me he had left, but not to worry. It was a private favor for Senator Amidala, and they were going to visit Mandalore. They would be back in a couple of days.”

“Telling somewhere else where he was in case something went wrong,” Obi Wan murmured. “Smart.”

Ahsoka nodded. “I didn’t think any of it, you—“ She hesitated. “You know how he is with Padmé.”

Obi Wan grit his jaw. “Indeed.” Anakin’s worst kept secret was one he and Ahsoka had only needed to acknowledge a few times previously, both having to cover for him when necessary making some conversations about it and why exactly they were breaking the Code to keep it equally necessary. Obi Wan realized in hindsight that perhaps this was why Ahsoka was taking his connection to Satine so easily.

“Then that night, I had the most awful dream, like,” Ahsoka’s face morphed into pain. “Like I was the one getting stabbed, but also seeing him getting stabbed. I woke up and knew something was wrong.”

Obi Wan winced in sympathy, knowing she must have experienced the same feeling he had gotten on Elul’i. “So you called me?” he prompted, remembering Ahsoka’s series of calls on his comm when he had awoken.

Ahsoka nodded. “He had specifically told me not to tell the Council yet and I didn’t want to get him in trouble, so I commed Padmé next to ask if they were alright, and turns out surprise surprise, she had no idea what had happened to him, she’d been at a party on Coruscant.”

Obi Wan listened in resignation as Ahsoka explained how Padmé had instantly been alarmed at the prospect of her husband being in danger, and that Anakin had told her the same story he had Ahsoka but switched the two women’s roles, and how Padmé kept Ahsoka on the line as she had investigated into why Anakin would be near Mandalore.

Obi Wan wasn’t surprised in the least when Ahsoka said how Padmé had instantly decided to journey to Mandalore upon realizing her friend had been overthrown, imprisoned, and accused of murder— he kicked himself for not taking some time of his own to do research, knowing Vizsla was dead beforehand might have done him some good as to wonder _why_.

Ahsoka had been all but forced to run after her to protect her, and this too was familiar to Obi Wan as he had been made to do the exact same thing on the many times he had played protection detail for his friend. He respected Padmé, he truly did, she was a good friend, brilliant and clever and one of the few people he could honestly say was an honorable politician who was making a positive change in the galaxy.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t also remark on her tendency to be reckless and short-sighted, all too often charging blindly into danger and putting herself and others at risk simply because she had deemed something or someone she cared about a higher priority than common sense. 

_Sorry, couldn’t hear that last bit of hypocrisy over you fucking off to violate a hundred-year neutrality treaty and causing two people to get attacked by a Sith Lord because you don’t know how to handle your damn attachment to a single woman well over a decade later,_ snarked his inner voice.

_I was helping her. She deserves help._ Obi Wan snapped back at it. It was his mistake, but him caring for Satine was in no way similar to—

_Marrying someone? I don’t know, marrying someone apparently got Anakin rescued. At least Padmé was able to do something to help them…_ came the reply.

_I highly doubt marrying someone would have solved my problem. Me being too involved with the both of them is what got them into this mess!_ he snapped back.

_But did you really let yourself get close? Or do you push them away? If you were closer, you could have done more for them. If you were closer to them, maybe Maul wouldn’t have been able to get to them alone…_

_No_, Obi Wan told it. _Maul went for them precisely because of me. You can’t say anything._

Anakin honestly likely went because he had to throw in that last taunt about Padmé; that was probably how Padmé had figured it out too. Anakin must have told her, and she must have been ready and waiting as backup.

She had always been protective, and Obi Wan knew she didn’t like him and Anakin going off on their missions and campaigns alone. He knew she could be overprotective. He knew, and was slightly mystified by this, that their own connection and friendship had partially sparked from her wanting to be closer to Anakin’s friends, get involved in his life.

She was brave and a fortunate friend to have even without romance to Anakin, and now that Obi Wan recalled it, to Satine as well.

Thank the Force she had thought to act now, any recklessness aside.

She had saved them.

He was drawn out of his musings when Ahsoka’s tale told him of finding Anakin and Satine on the dead ship, both in red armor and Satine in possession of not only Anakin’s lightsaber but clutching the Darksaber as well.

“Wait a moment,” Obi Wan interrupted. “She wasn’t actually _using_ it, was she?”

He may not get to say he knew her, truly, not anymore, but Obi Wan remembered sitting by a fire at age nineteen, watching the firelight cast shadows off Satine’s haunted expression as she spilled out the story of her parents’ deaths, the blade she had inherited along with the rest of her bloody legacy

Obi Wan remembered, too, sitting next to her again, many years later, on the flight back from Concordia after the revelation of Pre Vizsla’s betrayal, having the Darksaber brandished at the both of them. She had been completely silent. Her eyes not moving past the transparisteel out to the stars as they passed by, he had seen the shaking extension of her hand as she held it out to him. What else could he have done but offer her the barest of comforts she could allow herself, feeling her squeezing his hand tight enough to break while she visibly held back from breaking herself.

Obi Wan knew, he _knew_ how much Satine despised that blade and anything to do with it.

But then those accusations Ahsoka spoke of that said Satine murdered Vizsla... he possessed the blade last, however did Satine get it?

“She made it very clear to us when she spoke that she only used it to warn people away,” Ahsoka told him, relieving him only slightly as she continued, “She was kind of strange about it though, she would not let Padmé or me touch it. Maybe it was because she said she took it off of Maul, or...?”

Obi Wan flinched. So Satine had directly crossed paths with Maul as well. From what Obi Wan had learned about Mandalorian culture, Maul must have killed Vizsla and taken the saber from him, then blamed Satine. Slowly, a picture was beginning to form in Obi Wan’s head of Maul barging his way into Vizsla’s planned coup and taking control. 

_But why?_

Rhetorical question. Obi Wan knew exactly why. But he needed to hear it. 

“Ah, yes, about Maul,” Obi Wan spoke up, keeping an iron grip on his tone. _We just need to know_

“Right.” Ahsoka winced. “After we got the pair of them back onto our ship and... and did what we could for Anakin— Padmé’s still watching over him now —we asked the Duchess what happened, we had no clue what was going on. Like I said, she was injured and, well, here’s what she could tell us.”

Ahsoka took a deep breath and explained Satine’s scattered recollections: how Vizsla planned to use Maul and Savage to help him overthrow Satine only for Maul to betray and kill him, then put Almec as a puppet, how Anakin had shown up in Satine’s cell with a story that Obi Wan had sent him to rescue her—

(_At least she didn’t think I completely abandoned her,_ Obi Wan thought drily, a smidge of relief surfacing though when Ahsoka stopped to mention that this was where she and Padmé had gotten suspicious; “You would have came yourself, Master, on such a crazy plan.” “Why thank you, Padawan.”)

—and how Anakin and Satine apparently almost made it out before Maul and his remaining Death Watch troops caught them, the revelation that Satine’s entire first escape and message was manufactured by Maul to try and lure Obi Wan to him—

(And there it was. Obi Wan’s inability to deal with Maul the multiple opportunities he had been given before now resulted in an entire planetary system in the clutches of a volatile, violent man who would stop at nothing to get to Obi Wan, up to and including burning the planet’s very government down. Satine was injured and her life destroyed because of Obi Wan. Anakin ran straight into a trap meant for Obi Wan and now could be dying. How wonderful that Obi Wan now knew this for certain.)

—and how Satine and Anakin tried to work to keep Maul from killing either of them, how Maul nearly killed Satine and Anakin fought back, taking down Maul, and getting himself stabbed in the process—

(“What do you mean, ‘Dark Side Poisoning’?” Obi Wan asked very slowly. Ahsoka made a frustrated noise and an aborted flailing movement. “The only reason why he’s not dead has to be because his body reeks of the Dark Side! Maul must have done something to him!” “Anakin isn’t Dark! That doesn’t make sense,” Obi Wan argued. Force, what did Maul _do_ to him? “No, he’s not— look, I can’t explain, you’ll need to see it for yourself once we’re all home,” Ahsoka insisted.)

—and how Satine managed to stun both Sith to temporarily put them down, steal the Darksaber, drag Anakin’s body out of the palace and into a warzone, and with the assistance of her sister, get them off planet until a last defence missile shot their ship apart.

“...oh, just as a final thing,” Ahsoka finished, blinking at Obi Wan in puzzlement. “Did you know Satine’s sister, the one who helped her escape, works with _Death Watch?_ It was—“

“Bo Katan Kryze,” Obi Wan finished, startling Ahsoka into silence. “Yes, I had a feeling since your report on your own run-in with Vizsla and his followers.”

“You knew that?” Ahsoka demanded. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“All I knew was that the Satine had a sister named Bo Katan whom she became estranged from about ten years ago due to political differences,” Obi Wan chided her. “It is rather rude to go around spreading rumors that the Duchess of Mandalore’s sister is a terrorist without confirmation, and it is equally rude to ask the Duchess herself to get that conformation.”

Not that Obi Wan couldn’t be a rude bastard; he had immediately asked Satine anyway when the name and basic description of the woman in Ahsoka’s report matched the few holos Obi Wan had seen of the girl who was sent away for protection before he and Qui Gon arrived on Mandalore so long ago, as well as everything Satine had told him about her baby sister.

Satine’s almost instant reply for him to drop it was all the validation he needed, though he had refrained from pushing further, he did not want her to block him again.

Ahsoka huffed. “Yeah, well, since Satine didn’t kill Maul and his brother and I don’t think Skyguy did either, they’re still there on Mandalore and right now Bo Katan’s the only one fighting against them. Padmé and I didn’t run into any trouble when we found Master and the Duchess, you don’t think the Sith will come after them, do you?”

Obi Wan sighed, all the cards finally on the table in front of him, and any way he dealt them had a huge risk of losing everything.

“As you know, Ahsoka, Maul’s main target is me. He went after the Duchess because he believed hurting her was an easy way to hurt me and bring me to him.” 

“And it would have worked,” Ahsoka mused, eyes widening and mouth snapping shut upon realization she said it aloud, but Obi Wan nodded to her. It was the truth.

“It would have, had Anakin not intervened and sprung Maul’s trap instead,” Obi Wan said softly. “All of this can be attributed to a mistake of mine, and I owe many people an apology, but I’ll start with you, Ahsoka, for letting Anakin get hurt.”

Ahsoka shook her head rapidly. “No, Master, you can’t say that. It’s not your fault Maul’s crazy. You definitely should have told Master and me right away and gotten help so no one would be going in alone,” and here her voice took on a scolding note. “But you can’t apologize for Maul, or for Anakin deciding to be equally as dumb as you for whatever reason.”

_She’s wrong. She’s young and naïve, she’ll learn eventually._. Obi Wan gave her a grimace of acknowledgement and continued on. “As to your question of whether Maul should come after Anakin or Satine, I’m assuming that as now they will be in the Republic, they will be much less easier to get to. As long as he still is focused on me, he will search for another way to get to me.”

_And I can finish this. At long last. This is the final straw; he’s made it far too close, and I cannot allow him to do any more harm. He’s done enough already._

Obi Wan was surprised at the calm resolve washing over him, the first true remote feeling of peace since Satine’s message yesterday, that felt like a lifetime ago. He knew what he had to do, what he should have done already.

He would go back to Coruscant, see Anakin and Satine safe, then get to work. If there was anything he was truly good at, it was multitasking, and as he ran the rest of the war effort, he would divvy away just a corner of his time to devote to Maul.

Finding Maul. Beating Maul. 

Capturing him, hopefully.

If he couldn’t capture him...

Obi Wan still had a duty, and that duty included protecting the galaxy from any and all threats, and he knew it would constantly be in danger until he put an end to the threat he had created one way or another.

But first, Coruscant, and seeing to Anakin and Satine.

“What are Padmé’s and your plans for when you get back?” Obi Wan asked Ahsoka.

“We’ve figured Satine should get to a medcenter right away to have her injuries seen to,” Ahsoka said. “And like I said, Anakin _needs_ to get to the temple, I... I don’t think he can hang on forever without the healers seeing to him soon.”

Obi Wan caught the wavering in her voice at the end, and used the surge of overprotection inside him to wash away his own frosting of dread. “Anakin will be fine, Ahsoka,” he promised her.

Ahsoka’s face twisted for a moment in worry. Obi Wan’s heart twisted with her. “Yeah, so, we’ll probably split up once we get back on planet, I’ll take Anakin back to the temple, Padmé can take Satine to a medic.”

“That’s probably the best plan,” Obi Wan said, mind racing now that it had a defined problem to solve. The first decision came instantly. “When you bring Anakin to the healers, you tell them nothing.”

Ahsoka’s double take was even more exaggerated over the ripple of the holo. ”What?”

Obi Wan released a breath. “This is my mess, and I do not wish to see Anakin punished for it. The Council explicitly said no one was to go to Mandalore, and I’d rather explain myself how Anakin managed to disobey that order, violate a hundred year treaty between Mandalore and the Republic, break out an accused murderer—“

“Who— _Satine?!_”

“According to those articles you said Padmé read, yes, Satine. As I was saying, break out a murderer, start open warfare in Sundari, uncover a Sith Lord, get rescued by his secret, illegal Senator wife who also technically kidnapped a Jedi Padawan, apparently _Fall to the Dark Side—_“

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Ahsoka yelped. “I’ll let you handle it, but what am I supposed to say when the healers asked me what happened to him? I need to tell him Maul messed with his head or they won’t know how to help him! What if the Masters try and grill me?”

“You tell the Healers that you dreamed of Anakin having a nasty encounter with a Darksider, as you technically did. That should be enough for them to go down the right track. If anyone presses for more information, you say that you do not have all of the current information. Tell them I will return shortly and I will be the one to explain everything,” Obi Wan commanded.

“And what are you going to tell them?” demanded Ahsoka. “Are you going to reveal both of your affairs? I thought you didn’t want to get Anakin in trouble.”

Obi Wan winced, now wishing they hadn’t trained her to be as blunt. “They won’t need to know about Anakin and Padmé, I promise you, all blame for this will be going on me. I shall tell them how I was planning to go to Mandalore because... because I contested the Jedi code and what it meant to do our duty, which _is_ the truth, from one viewpoint. Anakin disagreed with my decision—“

_Why? Why did he do any of this?_

“—and he decided to go there himself to stop me from making a mistake. My actions led him into a trap set for me by a Sith Lord who took advantage of my maintaining too close of a relationship to a friend that bordered on attachment and endangered the lives of the Duchess and a fellow Knight. Anakin was simply defending himself trying to escape the planet and trying to defend Satine from the Sith Lord as she was in danger as well. 

“I will tell them our shared vision of Anakin in danger prompted you to take action on top of the message you received from him which told you not to inform anyone else and you snuck out, which you did, and found a ship in the city, which is technically true, and you flew off to find him and the Duchess and brought them to Coruscant after alerting myself and dropping Satine somewhere for medical attention once you arrived before taking Anakin home. None of it is a lie, and it will keep Anakin’s, Satine’s, and your heads all above the line and Padmé’s out of it completely.”

Ahsoka’s mouth was hanging slightly as he finished, rather satisfied with himself.

“Exactly how much trouble will this put you in, Master?”

_Ha. Probation, likely. If the Senate doesn’t get involved._

Obi Wan offered her his best reassuring grin. “A good deal, I imagine, but nothing I can’t handle. Pride is unbecoming in a Jedi, but I must admit that currently I’ve amassed quite a bit of good opinion in the eyes of my other Council members. They will be fair.”

_I’ll get what I deserve._

Ahsoka looked uncertain. “But this isn’t all your fault, Master. I don’t want to—“

“Just focus on making sure Anakin is taken care of,” Obi Wan interrupted her, succeeding in changing her focus to the more important matter.

“I will, but. They won’t actually think Anakin’s Fallen, will they?” Ahsoka was looking over her shoulder again, presumably in the direction where Anakin was. Obi Wan wanted so badly for her to take him in there, to see Anakin’s face for himself, see Satine’s, know they both were alive. “I know how it looks with his eyes and his aura, but...“

She trailed off, and here was where Obi Wan understood her apprehension completely. 

Anakin’s reputation amongst the Masters was........ uncertain. He was valued and respected for his skills and talents, and Obi Wan was firmly in the opinion Anakin was overreacting when he went on his diatribes that the entire Council must hate him. Obi Wan was there, and while his friend was undoubtedly a rather large pain in the ass at times, he was certain that amongst the Council at least half were actually fond of Anakin despite his antics.

That did not mean his volatility, his power, his lack of control, nor his temper, were not strictly on record. Obi Wan knew Anakin wasn’t a Dark Side risk, that was ridiculous, but he also knew some of the older Masters could be a bit cautious, a bit worrisome. Obi Wan had heard whispers, what-ifs, calling Anakin a risk ever since he had taken him as a Padawan.

To say the least, the the last thing Anakin needed with the eyes on him he had was a face full of scrutiny because a Sith Lord attacked him and made him appear Darker than he truly was. Let the healers make their first private assumptions, but Obi Wan didn’t want anyone saying anything about Anakin until he was there to explain that his friend was a victim in this.

“They’ll try to help him, Ahsoka, you know they will,” Obi Wan answered her question. He could see the war in her facial expressions before she eventually decided to believe him, giving him a reluctant nod.

“So you’ll let me handle this?” he asked, just to make sure.

There was the slight snarky eyeroll from the Ahsoka he knew. “Yes, Master Obi Wan.”

“Good.” That was Anakin taken care of. As long as his condition didn’t worsen, he should be fine. “Now for the Duchess. I assume she’ll be staying with Senator Amidala after she gets out of the medcenter?”

He watched Ahsoka’s mind shift behind her eyes. “Hmm? I guess she could. I think she has a place on Coruscant though.”

Obi Wan gave her a wan smile. “_Had,_ young one, had. Satine was unfortunately deposed, and she now has no authority or any legal right to governmental resources including property like residences on Coruscant. She’s in exile, and even if she wasn’t, I’m sure as soon as she goes to plead her case to the Senate to help her, there will be those who want to silence her, no?” 

It was always surprising to him that even after all these years, he could slip back into the skin of The Duchess’s Bodyguard and how best to protect her at the drop of a hat. 

“It’s dangerous for her to be by herself and right now, the only people we know are on her side are us, the other two people on that ship with you, and her sister. Satine is safest at Padmé’s, and if she was as quick as she was to rush out to Mandalore to rescue her, I’m sure Padmé will agree with me.”

“Right—“ Ahsoka began to say, but Obi Wan was snapping his fingers at the realization of just why Satine _needed_ to stay with Padmé.

“Yes, political asylum!”

He received a questioning blink. “Why political asylum?”

Right. Ahsoka was still learning.

“Satine is going to have a fight in the Senate; they won’t want to hear much of what she has to say as it is. They’ll jump on the chance to get rid of her by extraditing her back home on a murder accusation.”

“Murder accu— oh, you mean Vizsla? But there’s no proof she did that!”

“Unfortunately, the Mandalorian media says otherwise— Vizsla was the people’s recognized sovereign, and now that title is being shown to Minister Almec instead. Satine’s title of Duchess does nothing to protect her from that.”

Ahsoka’s eyes flashed in grim recognition. “Ah. But as she’s not from a Republic-recognized member state, the Mandalorian government doesn’t have extradition treaties with any Republic planet, so they can’t make her leave if she finds political asylum on Naboo— assuming Padmé’s apartments work like the Nubian embassy and count as Naboo territory.” 

_’Atta girl._ “Correct,” Obi Wan told her. “And I assume they do, Padmé should be able to find a loophole if not, it’s close enough.”

“Will Padmé need to worry about assassins?” Ahsoka asked, sitting up. “Will we need to watch out for them?”

Obi Wan pointed a finger at her. “You need to lay low like I told you to, I’m handling it. Hopefully, once I inform the Council of Maul’s involvement in the Mandalorian coup, that should provide proper incentive to bring the case for our aid to the Senate. If anything, we should be allowed to at least go and get him. It would be perfect if it could garner Satine some Jedi support and protection as well.”

Ahsoka quirked a brow. “Do you think that’ll happen.”

Obi Wan sighed. “Let’s just focus on getting the both of them medical attention as soon as—“

The glowing blue holo of Ahsoka flickered in and out, then off for a heartbeat, before back on to Ahsoka cursing and waving her hand at it. 

“Dammit, I forgot to charge this last night,” Ahsoka growled. “This is going to die on us soon.”

Obi Wan forced himself to settle. He had obtained the information he needed. Anakin and Satine were alive— not safe, he admitted as his mind once more screamed out into the frozen wasteland where his and Anakin’s Bond usually lay —but alive, and they were going to stay that way. He knew that Maul was trying to destroy his life once again, and that he didn’t have to fly into a trap on Mandalore because his… _acquaintances_ had a very good friend in Padmé, maybe more so than they did in him, who had gotten them into this clusterfuck.

Obi Wan was going home to them, and he was going to make things right.

“It’s fine, Ahsoka,” he promised. “You’ve touched bases with me and basically saved me from falling right into Maul’s clutches.” He didn’t think the shiver he saw run through her was the failing holo. “You and Padmé saved Satine and Anakin, and I can’t be more proud of you for your quick thinking.”

“You’re coming to meet us, right?” Ahsoka said.

“I’ll likely be home a few hours after you,” Obi Wan told her. “I think I dropped out of my original jump at the farthest point in the galaxy from Coruscant, damn my luck. Remember what I said, let me handle the Anakin situation, just get him and Satine the help they need. Give my thanks to Padmé for me.”

“I will, Master,” Ahsoka promised, image fading away. 

“May the Force be with you,” Obi Wan told the air, but she was gone.

Once more, he was alone in the yawning neon river of hyperspace.

Ever so slowly, he pried a finger off of his armrest. His right hand hadn’t left it the entire conversation.

Slower, even more slowly, he moved both hands to his face, rubbing at throbbing temples, raking fingers through hair, splaying them at grounding points at either side of his face.

_Keep yourself together._

Names and faces flashed through his mind. 

Anakin.

Satine.

Maul.

Padmé.

Over and over and over again.

Lightspace swam around him, aiding his headache.

Satine…

Anakin…

“Shit,” he muttered, breathing deeply into his hands. 

_”Shit.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a special two part chapter to make up for the wait! Lemme know how you liked this one then click for another chapter!


	12. Ahsoka

Ahsoka could tell Padmé had been watching the door like a hawk for the full duration of her holocall with Master Obi Wan, the other woman crouching beside Anakin’s chair and fingers splayed loosely through his hair as Ahsoka returned. Satine was still slumped limply in the chair across from them.

Stretching out her mind to caress her Master’s cold, clammy one, Ahsoka allowed herself a sigh of relief that despite the icky-gross Darkness, he didn’t appear to be any closer to death.

Ahsoka moved over to Satine, whose face gouge and bloody lip appeared to have been seen to by Padmé. She tried her best to pour some healing energy into those ribs, just to do something, anything to feel like she was helping.

“I assume you contacted him,” Padmé said. Ahsoka wished she could detect the exact meaning of that tone. “I heard raised voices.”

“Just us getting everything figured out,” Ahsoka assured her, trying not to recoil under Padmé’s raised brow after having to deal with Obi Wan’s variation for that entire draining conversation.

Padmé obviously wanted answers, and Ahsoka honestly needed time to figure everything inside her own head out before subjecting herself to the Senatorial Inquisition, but she knew Padmé was a concerned wife and friend, and that Ahsoka had been in the exact same boat before she had been able to contact Master Obi Wan.

She had felt bad he was by himself; his face the entire time had been that horrid state of neutrality, where she knew it was a mask for something he didn’t want her to see, spaced with just the tiniest slivers, cracks of other expressions that worried her even more because Master Obi Wan’s Jedi Mask _didn’t_ show cracks, not ever. It just didn’t.

“Ahsoka…” Padmé was saying warningly, and Ahsoka knew she needed to get her poodoo together.

“Right, so, first of all, we were right. Master Anakin didn’t convince Master Obi Wan about anything.”

“I thought so,” Padmé muttered with a pursing of the lips.

“Master Obi Wan had been planning to go himself, but Skyguy figured it out, thought it was appropriately dangerous and banthabrained to go by himself, thought the best way to keep Master Obi Wan from doing it was to do the brainless thing himself.”

Padmé’s face flattened, and her fingers in Anakin’s hair tightened just the slightest. “Damn it, Ani. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Choking out a snort to release the tension, Ahsoka let it flow through her to unlock the entire talk she had had with Master Obi Wan, how he had wanted to do this himself, how Master Anakin had shouldered his way into the situation and pronounced it his business just like he did everything else Obi Wan or Ahsoka tried to keep private.

She explained Master Obi Wan’s perspective, happy to see some of the tension in Padmé’s shoulders and the prickliness of her aura go down; she had sensed that perhaps the senator might be taking out some of her worry on Obi Wan.

Padmé interrupted once to say, “and he had no other reactions on Maul?”

Ahsoka paused, mind flashing back to how Obi Wan’s mouth had drawn in a straight line, bright eyes distinguishable even over holo going hard and flat at the mention of the Sith Lord. It was the same expression he had worn the only other time he had spoken to her about Darth Maul, when he had told her how Master Qui Gon had died.

House arrest during the Protocol 34 had been frustrating for Ahsoka, Master Anakin only explaining the very basics of why they were being hidden, basically. Her Master’s quiet, deadly rage simmering at a dull hum across their Bond had been different than normal, frightening almost. It was a similar vein to when she or Master Obi Wan was injured, but distinctly separable at the same time.

She was observant enough to know that Master Obi Wan didn’t talk about a lot of things that might have messed him up a bit in life, that Skyguy got it from somewhere. Darth Maul, she figured, was one of those things.

“No,” she told Padmé now. “No other reaction. He says he’s going to let the Council handle that information.”

“Hmm,” Padmé said, eyes flashing, but she didn’t give Ahsoka time to get awkward over it before she was waving her to continue.

Ahsoka went on with Obi Wan’s suggestions for what they should do when they got home. Padmé made approving comments at Ahsoka’s idea of one taking Anakin, one taking Satine, though she didn’t miss the wistful strokes of Padmé’s fingers increasing in Anakin’s matted, messy curls.

Ahsoka decided to go with what Obi Wan said about Satine’s living situation first, and Padmé said something sharply in another language that Ahsoka was 99% certain was a swear.

“What, what is it?”

“No, he’s right, completely right. Stars, I didn’t even think about that,” Padmé said with a frown, hand leaving Anakin’s hair as she got up to pace. “Of course she can stay with me, who else… going to need to update security, alert Typho, change security words, need more blasters, oh, Satine won’t like that, but… what counts as immunity, damn, I might need to bother the Queen about this, but of course it doesn’t matter, I can…” Padmé trailed off, looking back at Ahsoka. “I can do it,” she announced. “Will do it, of course I will. Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh,” Ahsoka nodded. “Good.”

“That was clever of him,” Padmé mused. “I’ll need to say thank you.”

Ahsoka waited a few more heartbeats for Padmé to focus back from inside her mind to the girl in front of her.

“Now for Anakin,” Padmé pressed, and it was Ahsoka’s turn to curl her lip.

She didn’t like Master Obi Wan’s plan to take the fall for this whole thing even a bit. She knew he had just wanted to save someone he cared about, and that Senate rules were interfering where she knew the Jedi should have been allowed to help. She herself had been called in to help Satine before because Padmé had been able to sway the Senate’s sympathy with tales of child-poisoning. Just because there was nothing in it for them…

Ahsoka shook herself out of the line of thought telling her that maybe the Senate didn’t make any sense, maybe they needed to genuinely care a little more, maybe the Jedi shouldn’t let themselves be pushed around so much, shaming herself for being such a cynic. Jedi shouldn’t be cynics.

Master Obi Wan said he had it handled…

Taking a breath, Ahsoka explained best she could remember how Obi Wan told her to say nothing and wait until he could come and smooth things over. 

Padmé’s face closed. She moved from where she stood in the middle of the cabin over to Satine’s chair, leaning gently against it and shifting to inspect her friend’s sleeping face.

Satine’s brow furrowed, and something in Padmé’s eyes melted, smoothing her hand over the disruption.

“Did… did you have another idea?” Ahsoka suggested after the air between them had grown silent for a moment long enough to make it strained.

There was a whistling of air as Padmé exhaled through her teeth. “Obi Wan is not a politician,” was what she eventually said. “He’d make a good one, much as he may protest, but he isn’t one yet. He’s not thinking like one, and that self-sacrificial plan will not fix things either, not for him, and not for Satine.”

Ahsoka was fairly certain the “self-sacrificial” aspect of the plan was more just Master Obi Wan genuinely convinced that the whole thing was his fault, but she stayed quiet as Padmé began to explain.

“The issue is that while he knows exactly how the Jedi Council will react, he did not predict how the Senate might.”

“He already said he was going to catch trouble for it,” Ahsoka defended. “I think he knows.”

“Oh he knows, but asking for that much trouble is not something any sane person should be doing!” Padmé explained. “Did he tell you _why_ the Senate might be hesitant to send aid to Mandalore besides that we’re stingy and their neutrality means we aren’t necessarily obligated to?”

“No?”

“It is because Mandalore’s neutrality in particular is backed by a century-old treaty specifically saying the Republic cannot land military troops of any kind or make any acts of aggression on or in Mandalorian space in exchange for Mandalore remaining neutral and staying out of conflicts against the Republic. It was created as a mutual defence pact back in the days of the old Mandalorian warrior clans. It was why I was so sure I could walk in there and talk to them, their side of the treaty means they can’t just arrest or hold me hostage or that could be taken as a declaration of war as well.”

“And that was why there was the whole situation between Mandalore and the Republic two years ago,” Ahsoka realized, cottoning on. “When Death Watch was aligned with the Separatists, we weren’t sure if Mandalore was breaking the treaty or not because we didn’t know how far into the government the terrorists reached, so we were debating on whether we needed to breach the treaty first and take over and secure the system before they could officially break it and offer their full support and resources to the Seps.”

Padmé nodded. “And I’m sure you know the military statistics better than I do, but in the Senate? The Mandalorian warriors are still highly feared. The Republic doesn’t _want_ to be fighting a war against them. 

“They’re in a strange paradoxical position with Satine where most disrespect and look down on her for her pacifist views, see her as weak, as you might remember when everyone was jumping to occupy the system. But at the same time, they respect her as the only one who’s been able to keep the warriors at bay. They know she doesn’t want anything to do with our war, and her policies they turn their noses up at have been the only thing preventing the warriors they’re so scared of from bothering the Republic for the most part for almost twenty years.

“Now, with no Satine in power to assure the warriors won’t be joining Count Dooku, a reason for Mandalore to break the treaty and side with him is the last thing the Republic wants. I told you before that the Jedi are only affiliated with the Republic, which means you are also a paradox. You don’t represent the Republic unless either the Republic says so, or the people who want you to represent them say so. That being said, Jedi can’t just go to Mandalore and start a fight the way Anakin did, because not only do you have the risk of the Republic deciding you’re there on your own time and you don’t necessarily have their support, but you also have Mandalore in the position where they can decide whether a Jedi being there is the Republic breaking the neutrality treaty or not.

“Bottom line, if a Jedi does something on Mandalore that makes them decide the Republic has broken the neutrality treaty, and now there’s no pacifist in charge to prevent a war from occurring… the Senate would be _furious_ if the Republic got dragged into another war. We can’t fight another war. For Obi Wan to take sole responsibility for all of that…”

Padmé words faded off as Ahsoka ran a hand down her face. 

_Okay. So that’s number two on the list of Master Obi Wan’s bright ideas today._

Still feeling the need to defend her line, Ahsoka tried, “He mentioned something about a treaty, I think. I’m certain he has a plan. He was sure if he took this to the Council they could deal with things.”

“They could,” Padmé mused. “If they managed to play more politics themselves. And as far as I know, the Order doesn’t want to sign over any more autonomy to the Senate.”

Ahsoka started in surprise, always forgetting that some senators, even good friends like Padmé, didn’t see the Jedi as tools.

_There’s the cynic again…_

“And,” Padmé continued, “Even if he manages to dig himself out of the hole a bit, his idea still won’t work for Satine.”

“He said there would be no implications on Satine!” Ahsoka flashed back. Now it felt like Padmé was just being picky. 

“Nothing romantic,” Padmé stressed, face softening. “And trust me, I’m more than grateful to him for my own benefit in that. We’re going to have to have a talk that’s long overdue when we’re all back. But no, I’m not talking about the risks of Satine having rumors of an affair with a Jedi. I’m talking about Satine having any connections to the Jedi at all being a bad thing.”

“In the Senate? But the Jedi are on the Republic’s side! Shouldn’t that support mean something?”

“Support that you broke the Republic’s rules to give, and the Senate won’t like that at all,” Padmé shot back. “Satine will have to disclose when she talks to the Senate how she tried to get in contact. They won’t like that she only sent one message to the Order, not to the Senate directly. The Jedi work under the Republic, but that means that in the Senate’s eyes, the Jedi must do all business that’s not strictly Jedi Force business _through_ the Republic.”

“Why does that matter?” Ahsoka questioned, more than a bit confused and having trouble seeing things.

“It matters because if the Jedi start making too many of their own deals and private actions, it feels like a rebellion, like maybe you want to break off.”

Ahsoka couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “_Break off—_ we are literally leading the entire war effort!”

“I know that,” Padmé said evenly. “There are those who don’t. If it looks to the Senate like Satine reached out directly to the Jedi and got them to come and do her a personal favor when she had no ties to the Republic or anything to offer it, it will cause suspicion. People won’t trust her or the power she holds. They might even view her plight as a Jedi political move. They’ll be all the more eager to get rid of her.”

Ahsoka wilted, head spinning and feeling drained. “But how does that affect Master Obi Wan taking responsibility for the rescue?”

“Because if he tells the Jedi Council, the Council needs to tell the Senate,” Padmé said. “So no, if Satine wants Senate cooperation, she can’t be associating herself with the Jedi.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” Ahsoka demanded. “I don’t want Master Obi Wan to get all that heat for something he couldn’t help, but I don’t want my Master punished either! It’s not like we can lie.”

Padmé frowned, Ahsoka watching her mind work. “I’m not sure yet, but I want to talk to Obi Wan. There has to be a better solution than this. I just wish we had more time to figure things out.”

“I think we’re going to be short on time as it is,” Ahsoka countered, brushing her mind worriedly over Anakin’s unresponsive one. The Dark pulsing she had been managing to block felt slightly increased.

“Right,” Padmé breathed, looking at Anakin in concern as she adjusted Satine’s seat. “We should focus on getting them treatment as soon as we arrive.”

“Right,” Ahsoka repeated, thinking on how she was just supposed to show up on the Temple steps with her half-dead Master and leave Master Obi Wan to clean the whole thing up. It would be so much easier if the Council and the likes weren’t going to ask questions, but as long as she was there to ask—

Wait.

Ahsoka had an idea.

To be perfectly honest, it was probably even crazier than trying to stage a one-man invasion and jailbreak of a neutral planet.

Ahsoka turned to Padmé. “Wait, I think I know how we can fix this once we arrive.”

* * *  
“I don’t know about this, Ahsoka,” Padmé was saying as Ahsoka readjusted her grip on her Master’s body cradled in her arms. “Are you sure you don’t need a ride to—“

“We’ll be fine, Senator,” Ahsoka promised, waving Padmé, who was sitting in a speeder with Satine slumped next to her, away. “I know a super fast way to get him back. Are you sure no one will be seeing you bring Satine in?”

“I’ve called ahead to a doctor there I know I can trust,” Padmé said. “These kinds of places know how to respect secrecy.”

_More like the money needed to buy secrecy,_ Ahsoka thought to herself. Bringing herself back together and hyping herself up to run what had to be one of her most risky missions yet, Ahsoka adjusted her own hood and the one over Anakin’s face and sent Padmé a salute. “Go get Satine help. I’ll keep your husband safe, Padmé, I promise.”

Padmé’s slight falter in hand wave showed that she realized at the same time Ahsoka did that this was the first time Ahsoka had addressed Anakin Skywalker as Padmé Amidala’s husband out loud.

Who knew, maybe for Padmé this was the first time anyone had addressed them as such.

She could see Padmé’s wistful gaze following her husband’s body as Ahsoka made her way to the lift, adjusting the pair of their cloaks once more to prevent identification, not knowing for sure where the security cams in Padmé’s building were

She only felt a little guilty at not telling Padmé the full truth of what she had planned besides asking if Padmé had any of his regular clothing on her ship to change him into to avoid further questioning by the Jedi about the Mandalorian armor.

Now, with Anakin wrapped in his own pants and shoes, his own cloak, and gauze and bacta pads from Padmé’s medkit around his wound, still reeking that troubling Darkness, Ahsoka slipped out of the building and hailed a cab for the next part of her plan.

She paid the droid driver with loose credits given by Padmé and directed them to about a block away from the beginning of the temple grounds, making sure to get out at a point where she knew there were no security cameras. The Force had even decided to smile on her, as she could see a group of security troopers in red milling about as well. Ducking into a relatively empty side alley, Ahsoka drew the cloak further around her face, found a spot on the ground that looked obvious enough, and apologized to every screaming instinct she had in her head telling her not to leave her injured, could-be-dying Master on the ground alone.

Finishing the job, Ahsoka pulled out the blaster she had received from Padmé, aimed for some poor person’s speederbike parked towards the other end of the alley, and hit the spot she knew would cause a loud explosion.

She had been careful to choose an area where no civilians would be harmed, but Ahsoka still felt a rush of guilt at the screams of panicking people as they ran away. Using the windows above her to scale the side alley wall, Ahsoka was up on the roof just in time to see a single trooper barrel into the alley, weapon drawn. She watched as the trooper cautiously approached the body laying there, hand up on their helmet to call for backup, there was a potential victim of…

Ahsoka held her breath as the trooper very slowly turned over the body and leaped backwards, their voice suddenly raised. 

“No, no— that’s— Captain? Yeah, Captain I’m calling in a full squad plus medical, you won’t believe who I just found, and I hope to fuck he’s not dead.”

Ahsoka sighed, having been almost completely convinced that any clone on Coruscant would recognize one of the most publicly known Generals in the war, but still worried her plan could have gone awry.

Now, as she heard backup in the distance coming closer, she needed to hightail it the block to the temple and sneak back in, all while keeping out of the security cameras again. 

She _needed_ to be back before Anakin was.

* * *  
Ahsoka was casually studying with some friends in the temple library, having by all appearances shown up recently in a state of worry over not knowing where her Master was and not liking the feelings the Force was giving her, maybe breathing a little quickly like she had been running, but that was likely nerves.

A temple guard had came to find her personally, and Ahsoka tried not to take it as a bad sign. She would ignore that these guys were usually the enforcers when someone at the temple had royally karked up. 

The guard told her she was being summoned to the Council chamber right away, and Ahsoka used her actual apprehension for the situation to project nervousness and uncertainty as she was escorted away.

As she walked, she took the time to cultivate responses for the harebrained scheme she had concocted in about five minutes while Padmé was landing the ship back on Coruscant.

What was she doing?

The doors to the Council chamber opened right away, and Ahsoka was relieved to only find herself facing three Masters, Master Yoda, Master Mundi, and Master Billaba. Ahsoka recalled that all the others were probably offworld.

She bowed. “Greetings, Masters. You wanted to see me?”

_Here we go…_

“Yes,” Master Billaba began, but Yoda was already leaning forward in his chair.

“Troubled thoughts, I sense from you, Padawan,” Yoda said.

“Well, yes, Master Yoda, apologies,” Ahsoka said. _Cutting right to the chase, I guess._

“Why?” Yoda pressed.

_Careful…_ “Just some troubling dreams, Master,” Ahsoka explained.

“Hmm. About?”

Deep breath. “About my Master.”

There it was, all three Masters subtly tensing. Ahsoka kept her hands behind her back and resisted the urge to rock on her heels.

“Of Skywalker?” Master Mundi clarified, and Ahsoka nodded.

“Yes. He— he left last night, and I had a troubling dream that he might be in trouble.”

Yoda’s tone was sharper. “Left? Left where?”

Ahsoka shrugged. “He didn’t tell me before he left.” _True._ “He just left me a message saying he would be gone for no more than two days and not to worry.” _Also true._

Master Billaba cocked her head. “And even when you started getting worried for his safety, after this troubling dream, you did not think to tell anyone about your fears?”

“I tried to comm Master Kenobi, but he was away too.” Also true. “Anyone else, well…” Ahsoka hesitated, letting her guilt at the lies of omission bleed into her emotions. “Master’s message did say that it was a private favor and not to bother any of the other Masters about it, so I kept it quiet. I thought he would be able to handle himself.”

Mundi stroked his chin. “And do you have a copy of this message he left you?”

A guilty laugh bubbled out of Ahsoka’s throat. “No, unfortunately. Master always likes to memorize and delete messages he deems important.” _Also true. I just don’t usually follow that habit._

There was a brief wave of disappointment before Mundi spoke again, tone scolding. “And when would be the point where you deemed the situation necessary to inform another Master at the least about this breach of conduct?”

“I…” Ahsoka took a breath. “I don’t know. I want to listen to my Master, believe he’s doing the right thing. I went on a walk to try and clear my head—“ _cover, she knew she hadn’t been taking the time to avoid cameras near the temple in her mad dash to catch Padmé leaving,_ “—in case I was overreacting, but I still feel something wrong with our Bond.”

Yoda sighed. “Your duty to look out for Master, it is, young Tano. Told someone, you should have.”

Ahsoka hung her head. “Yes Masters, I’m sorry.” She let her eyes lift up. “I’ve still heard nothing from him,” _not a lie, he hasn’t spoken to me once,_ “and the feeling hasn’t gone away. Have you any news? I don’t want anything to happen to him…”

Sure enough, the Masters shared a look with one another. He must be back then. Yoda’s eyes turned to Ahsoka, and she could feel all of their minds brushing over hers. Please let them sense her guilt as guilt in not telling them before. Despite his disappointment, Ahsoka could see sympathy welling in Yoda’s wizened gaze, his ears drooping.

“Found him, we have, Padawan,” Yoda rasped. “Here in the temple now, he is.”

Ahsoka let some of her frustration at her helplessness she had ben feeling all day slip through. “That’s good, right? What’s wrong?”

Another shared glance, before it was Billaba leaning forward this time, amber eyes gentle. “Ahsoka,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but your Master has been attacked.”

Taking the opportunity to unleash the emotion she had been forced to suppress in front of Padmé earlier, Ahsoka allowed her pain and fear and worry leak out of her mind, keeping her face as firmly blank as she could, hopefully making it seem like an effort to remain composed. “Attacked? By what? Do you know who?”

“We do not,” Mundi replied. “We were hoping you might be able to tell us more about it.”

Ahsoka let out an agitated breath that wasn’t quite fake. “My dream was shadowy and confusing and didn’t make much sense. All I saw was that he was struggling against _something_ Dark, and then I think it stabbed him. Can I see him?” She really did want to see her Master, see that the Healers were taking care of him. “Maybe something else will come to me if I see him.”

The note of desperation in her tone must have shown through, as Yoda’s placid aura settled comfortingly around her. “Hurt badly, he was. Need space to see to him, the Healers do. Not now.” Ahsoka started to slump, but Yoda continued, “Go and wait outside the Halls, you may. Let you in when they finish, they will.”

Ahsoka bowed deeply. “Thank you Masters. May I go now, or do you have any more questions?”

“More questions, have _you?_” Yoda countered.

“Uh.” Ahsoka paused, trying to think of how she’d act, what she would say if she was really being informed of this for the first time. “Do you… do you know why? Why this happened to him?”

A third shared glance between Masters. “Know no more than you do, do we,” Yoda explained. “Just as eager to find out, we are.”

The nudge of hint in his voice set Ahsoka ever so slightly on edge, but she felt like she was getting off the hook, so she just offered a facsimile of a grateful smile and bowed again. “I’ll let you know if I remember anything else, Masters. May I go wait for Master Anakin now?”

Yoda wheezed out a sigh. “You may. Dismissed you are, Padawan.”

“Thank you, Masters,” Ahsoka repeated, bobbling a bow again and turning to scurry off. Before she walked through the chamber doors, Yoda spoke up, voice odd. 

“Padawan. Let us know in the future, hmm? In these times, care for each other, we all must. Look out for each other too.”

“Yes Master,” Ahsoka called back, hurrying out the doors and walking away.

She had absolutely no clue whether that had worked or not.

* * *  
Obi Wan was on his final hour of the flight home when he had gotten three near consecutive messages.

One from Ahsoka:

_I found a better way to let Anakin be found, Master. I’ll explain more when you return if you can get to me before the Council gets to you, but I don’t think anyone has to get in trouble._

One from Padmé:

_Our friend is having her injuries seen to, I’m happy to let her stay with me afterwards. I’m also planning on saying I found her after she escaped on her own accord. I’d suggest maybe we should talk before anyone else says something that could refute that. I think we should probably talk anyway._

And one from the Council:

_Please report to the Council as soon as you return to the temple. There is a matter of grave importance to be discussed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More apologies for the month+ between updates as well as a lack of responses in comments, I had some uh, stuff goin’ in and I’ll answer all of your lovely comments tonight! <3 <3 <3
> 
> So yeah, fun fact! One more chapter and we’ve officially reached the end of Act I!!! There will be three acts and I’ll give y’all a hint: the next chapter POV will be Maul ;)
> 
> Sorry these two chapters were all talking and politics but I’ve just realized how much of a political drama this beast is gonna turn into lol. Dammit, I really do hate politics (she says as she completes an academic specialization in political conflict)
> 
> Comments are always welcome and appreciated!


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